


Refractions of a Greater Truth

by lighthouse



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 5.3 spoilers, 8th Umbral Calamity G'raha, Angst and Fluff, Character studies, Domestic Bliss, Dragons, Edging, FFXIV Write 2020, Family, Feral Catboys in Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Heatfic?, Injury Sex, Ishgard Restoration (Final Fantasy XIV), Library AU, Multi, Other, Parting Ways, Raising children, Sickfic, Sparring and Sex, The Diadem, The Rising 2020, Top Raha, Two of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:53:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 67,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26250721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lighthouse/pseuds/lighthouse
Summary: This will be a collection of responses to prompts for FFXIV Write 2020. See table of contents for summaries, characters, ratings, etc. Details will also be included in chapter titles and summaries!  Most recent two chapters:29. When Pigs Fly, G'raha and Krile, T. Library AU. G'raha has a serious struggle with his self worth once he realizes he's asked out a famous primal slayer, but luckily Krile is there to help him through.30. Unexpected (free prompt); WoL/G'raha, E. In the wake of their foray into Dravania, G'raha finds himself dealing with an unexpected and not entirely unwelcome condition. A slightly different spin on heatfic.
Relationships: Astin/J'bhen Tia, G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Original Character(s), G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, WoL/G'raha Tia/Crystal Exarch
Comments: 172
Kudos: 103
Collections: Final Fantasy Write Prompt Challenge 2020





	1. Table of Contents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Titles, characters, ratings, and chapter summaries are listed below.

1\. Crux; Hythlodaeus & Azem & Emet Selch. Rated T--The final days of Amaurot are at hand, and three lifelong friends have chosen their paths. Their decisions in turn will affect the star in sundered ages to come. A story of departures...but only for now.

2\. Sway; Crystal Exarch character study, mention of specific WoL. Rated T--The Crystal Exarch summons up the courage to begin the research that will ultimately bring him home. 

3\. Muster; Alphinaud, Alisaie, Urianger, Y'shtola, Thancred, and Ryne individual character studies, some specific WoL. Rated T--In a few days time the Scions will be leaving the First to return to the Source, and as this beautiful star has granted them all varying degrees of joy and self-understanding, there is much upon which to fondly reflect ere they depart. 

4\. Clinch; Astin/J'bhen Tia. Rated T--It's been a year since he gave in and went to see Bhen's exhibition at The Rising. Astin made a promise to his love that day, and now it's time to follow through. A sequel to my fic "Dreams Born of Sand", though it's not necessary to read that to follow this one. 

5\. Matter of Fact; WoL/G'raha. Rated M. There's been a mistake at the tailor's, but G'raha is not about to let a gift from his beloved inspiration go to waste. Alternately, G'raha could rock a Dirndl and we all know it. 

6\. Unfettered (free prompt); WoL/G'raha. Rated E. A continuation of the above. G'raha thoroughly enjoys his freedom at the Autumn Fest and plots his way toward fulfilling a lifelong whimsy. 

7\. Nonagenarian; Lyna & G'raha. Rated G. On the occasion of her ninetieth name day, Lyna receives a letter from her grandfather in their correspondence journal and subsequently considers the path her own life will take moving forward. 

8\. Clamor; WoL/G'raha. Rated M. In which G'raha Tia comes to realize that the Diadem is very much not an ideal location for a romantic day out. 

9\. Lush; WoL/G'raha. Rated T. Follow-up to the above Diadem fic. As the Exarch, G'raha Tia always had issues with being ill and letting others look after him. But this is a new life, and with some help and introspection, perhaps he can begin to overcome these insecurities. 

10\. Avail; WoL & WoL family time, rated M for themes. The rare appearance of RP!Evi'a. AU setting in which Evi'a is only a minor WoL and had to make his way through life alone after leaving his abusive tribe...he's a very different man without his Scion support network. He and his little brother Yhen'a (Sorin's WoL, used with permission) go out fishing for a day, and have a conversation Evi'a probably should have initiated much earlier. Also includes mentions of A'caji (red_scorch's WoL, also used with permission). 

11\. Ultracrepidarian; WoL/G'raha, M. Evi'a elects to try his hand once more at white magic for a job...and it does not go well. Luckily G'raha is there for him, in more ways than one. 

12\. Tooth and Nail; WoL/G'raha, E. Followup to previous prompt, though this can stand alone. Evi'a is not in the best of conditions, but seeing as how he's stuck at home anyway, G'raha decides the day would be well spent in bed. Edging, top Raha, and sex whilst injured. 

13\. Somnambulate (free prompt); WoL/Exarch, T. The Exarch refuses to sleep, and Evi'a can't help but feel that this time, something is wrong. 

14\. Part; WoL/G'raha, E. After an exhilarating day of sparring with the dragons of Anyx Trine, G'raha Tia wants _more_ , and means to have it. Feral sex with a whole lot of switching, catboys in the wild remembering what it is to be miqo'te. 

15\. Ache; WoL/Exarch, M. Sometimes all the Warrior of Light can do is be there when someone they love is hurting. Sometimes, that's more than enough. 

16\. Lucubration; Alphinaud and Ysayle, T. On the morrow, their party will be heading to Zenith to beseech Hraesvaelgr for his aid in brokering peace between Ishgard and Dravania. Alphinaud finds himself restless in the early hours of the morning, and discovers in Ysayle a like companion. 

17\. Fade; WoL/G'raha, M. Fifteen years after the events of 5.3, Evi'a and G'raha are living a beautiful life...but why does Raha keep returning to the Tower, and what is he searching for when he gazes at himself in the mirror?

18\. Panglossian; Biggs III & G'raha Tia, T. Excerpts from the personal journal of Biggs III from the 8th Umbral Era 201, the first of two years spent by G'raha Tia at Lake Silvertear. 

19\. Where the Heart Is; WoL/Exarch/G'raha Tia, M. Ambiguous WoL. A continuation of Two of Them/The First Faire, although this can probably be read alone. A home for three will be challenging, but you are ready to return to your own house and bring your loves with you, starting with the younger G'raha Tia. 

20\. Foibles; WoL/G'raha, T. There's a lot to be said for the charm of adjusting to domestic life together--including how to live with one another's little foibles.

21\. Argy-bargy; WoL and ARR G'raha, M. Evi'a goes out to look for G'raha when he doesn't return to the Find in a timely manner, and gets a lot more than he bargained for. 

22\. Shuffle; Exarch & baby Lyna, T. A week into his new role as a (grand)father, the Exarch reflects on his reasons for adopting a child. 

23\. Beam; Aymeric & Haurchefant, T. A chance meeting in St. Reymanaud's Cathedral between two young knights with like backgrounds and like cause. 

24\. Wish; G'raha & Lyna, T. On the occasion of G'raha Tia's one hundred and fiftieth name day, Lyna makes a request that she has waited a lifetime to voice. She also has a very special surprise in store.

25\. Alternate (free prompt); WoL/G'raha, Krile, T. Library semi-modern AU, G'raha is a librarian at the Great Gubal Library, Evi'a as an adventurer seeking to realign his life a little with a couple moons of study.

26\. Irenic; WoL/G'raha, T. Continuation of the above Library AU. Krile has set up a meeting between Evi'a and G'raha to see if things can be made right, but how will it work out in the end?

27\. Paternal; WoL/G'raha, T. After what has felt a lifetime of waiting, Evi'a welcomes his oldest daughter home. G'raha offers his support and thinks on his own time as a parent, where he was and where he finds himself now. 

28\. Splinter; WoL & OC (his daughter), T. As Evi'a's daughter struggles to adjust to her new life, they have a heart to heart on the trials that come along with splintering off from their mountain tribe.

29\. When Pigs Fly; G'raha and Krile, T. Library AU. G'raha has a serious struggle with his self worth once he realizes he's asked out a famous primal slayer, but luckily Krile is there to help him through. 

30\. Unexpected (free prompt); WoL/G'raha, E. In the wake of their foray into Dravania, G'raha finds himself dealing with an unexpected and not entirely unwelcome condition. A slightly different spin on heatfic. 


	2. Table of Contents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final days of Amaurot are at hand, and three lifelong friends have chosen their paths. Their decisions in turn will affect the star in sundered ages to come. A story of departures...but only for now. 
> 
> Hythlodaeus & Azem & Emet Selch, rated T for theme. Response to prompt #1, Crux.

“It’s hard to believe this is the last time we’ll be saying goodbye like this,” Hythlodaeus said with a fond smile, watching from his seat on the plush, floral print sofa as his dear friend packed his bags for what was like to be the final time. He ought to have been more distraught, he supposed, but the sadness he should have felt was oddly distant. In any event, he didn’t want to make this parting more difficult on the man than it already was, considering his recent fraught arguments with the rest of the Convocation.

“Don’t say things like that,” Azem muttered irritably as he stuffed his gilded and worn astrolabe into his pack. “You make it sound as though the world is ending.”

“Well, as you’ve Foreseen…”

“It hasn’t ended yet,” the Shepherd said stubbornly. “The city’s in dire straits, but there’s a star out there full of people with hopes and dreams that have nothing to do with the hubris of Amaurot.” He paused in his packing, sighed and looked to the ceiling for a moment. “Hyth, are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

“Oh Azem, you know I’m not meant for grand adventures like you. And while you have justifiable and meaningful reasons for leaving, responsibilities that call you ever beyond our borders, I have naught but this city. I would never forgive myself if I left.” 

“Do you think I’m abandoning the Convocation?” he asked quietly, as though he were wondering the same himself.

“Ever have you worked apart from them, so your departure now is not out of the ordinary. Besides, I daresay shortly your role as the Shepherd will become a moot point in Amaurot, if they do as they wish,” Hythlodaeus pointed out gently. No matter Azem’s contentious relationship with the Convocation, it was never easy to leave lifelong friends behind. 

“My thoughts as well...it soothes my soul to hear it from you, though,” Azem said with a sad smile. “If you want that sofa you can have it.”

“What makes you think I’d wish to haul this rather eclectic bit of furnishing back to mine?”

“Are you calling my concept ugly?” Azem asked, attempting a playful squint. “It happens to have an imprint in the shape of your arse for all you’ve sat on it, so I figured at least you’d put it to use.”

“That’s a fair point,” Hythlodaeus acknowledged, rising as Azem shouldered his pack. “I’ll miss our talks, Shepherd.” 

“Me too, Hyth,” he said, moving in for an embrace that was gladly returned. “I know Elidibus is a lost cause, and I won’t ask you to look after Emet, but…” Azem faltered, and Hythlodaeus pulled back to look him in the eyes.

“I’ll be here for them, I promise,” he said softly. “Go where you will, and do what you must—your destiny lies elsewhere now.” Azem gifted him with a grateful smile that shifted into an expression of resolute determination, and after clasping one another’s shoulders one last time, the Shepherd turned and departed in a swirl of night blue robes. 

How Azem’s decision would affect the city, he could only guess, but the peaceful calm of the Shepherd’s empty quarters felt right and natural compared to the upheaval in the rest of Amaurot. 

Perhaps he would remain here for a while after all...Azem wouldn’t mind, and he would need to keep his heart at ease if he wished to fully remember the city and the true nature of his friends in their final days. Perhaps someday, the clarity of his thoughts in these trying times would serve a greater purpose.

  
  
  


“So you’re leaving. Now. At a time like this,” Emet Selch said flatly, unable to conjure up a true tone of disbelief for what he’d expected would come to pass all along. “I can’t imagine how you’re justifying your flight to yourself when the city needs you specifically more than ever.”

“I gave you my guidance. None of you listened,” Azem countered, turning to face down the Architect at the gates of his own failing city. 

“So you’re striking out for greener pastures, eh? What a surprise,” Selch said bitterly, and Azem bristled. 

“I’m not fleeing, but by all means, feel free to frame the narrative of our parting in whatever way pleases you, it’s what you mean to do anyway,” he spat. 

“Do you honestly think I’d do that to you?” the Architect asked quietly, and the Shepherd took a calming breath. 

“Frankly, I don’t know what you’ll do anymore. But I should hope not.” He frowned, looked away, then back to his erstwhile friend. “There’s truly no changing your mind on this?”

“We’re going to be destroyed, Azem. We have to do something concrete--simply spouting idealistic notions of overhauling our society will not suffice, and even if it would work, we don’t have time.” 

“Emet, the summoning of an eldrich terror is not the solution to overcoming the horde of lesser horrors we’ve brought upon ourselves. We must take responsibility.”

“Oh, is this you taking responsibility then? Forgive me, because that is certainly not what it appears at the moment.” 

“Yes, this is me taking responsibility!” Azem shot back. “This creature you mean to bring forth will overthrow all of your honor and good intent, until there is nothing left. And what have you done already to get the rest of them to follow you? Lahabrea spreads lies shamelessly in the streets, and you have all taken advantage of Elidibus’ inexperience and pure-hearted kindness, warped him into thinking he’s saving the world!” 

“He  _ is _ saving the world, you just refuse to see it!” 

“ _ I  _ don’t see? As you well know, my Echo speaks of the future, and ever have you used my Foresight to the advantage of Amaurot! How can you believe what you’re saying, why won’t you believe me, why not now, of all times?!” Azem cried, tears of fury and betrayal burning in his eyes.

“Because we’re desperate, Azem!” Selch shot back, voice strained. “We...we’re desperate, and out of time, and we don’t know what else to do,” he finished, choking on his words. 

The Shepherd squared his shoulders even as tears broke free, and moved forward to embrace the soul he’d had the honor of naming his friend for longer than any other. 

“Will you not be persuaded to stay?” the Architect whispered, moving to embrace him in return, and Azem swallowed. 

“Emet, my calling is the whole of this star, and it always has been,” he murmured. “Already a civic countermovement forms against your ideals...plans are in motion to summon an equally powerful being to keep yours in check. What of the world, caught in the vice of the deadly machinations of Amaurot? I can’t afford to remain here and be tempered by these fell creatures you mean to summon. Name me traitor, name me coward if you will, but for the sake of my responsibility to the world at large, I cannot allow my soul to be yoked by Zodiark.” 

“You always did have a way of bringing others together, making things work out in the end,” Selch said softly, stepping back with a sad smile. “Pity your miraculous luck didn’t work for our vexed city, but who knows what good your interference abroad might do.” He turned, looked to the twinkling expanse of the proud metropolis, glittering in the darkness. 

“Will you remember us as we were? Before the summoning,” he asked, unable to face his oldest friend with this personal request. 

“Every day of my life and beyond,” the Shepherd said quietly. “May the firmament ever shine upon you, Emet.”

“May the sun ever light your path, Azem,” he intoned in customary response. When at last he turned to look, his friend was gone. 

Typical, but no matter. They would meet again--he would see to it. Steeling his heart and lifting his chin, he made his way back down the path, into the final days of Amaurot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, when I saw this prompt first thing in the morning it threw me for a while, but I'm glad to get the chance for the first time to write both Azem (in this case, the Ancient version of my WoL Evi'a) and Hythlodaeus.
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, kudos and comments are writer fuel and always appreciated!
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	3. Sway--(Crystal Exarch, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Crystal Exarch summons up the courage to begin the research that will ultimately bring him home.

“I can’t stay here…I’m…” Evi’a murmured in his sleep, eyebrows knit with distress. The Exarch frowned, reached out to gently smooth silvery ears in comfort. His love’s face relaxed at the calming touch, and the bard settled back into slumber with a twitch of his tail and a soft snore. Still he left his hand there for a while, quietly enjoying the silkiness of his inspiration’s ears against his palm, the warmth of their shared heat under the blankets, the rhythmic lull of their breathing, the private luxury of being able to watch over this incredible man at rest.

How could he ever bear to let this intimacy go? How would he ever manage to send Evi’a off with a smile when the day of their parting inevitably arrived? 

He closed his eyes and swallowed against the thought, restlessness pecking away at what remained of his heart. He was not going to be able to sleep like this.

With one last longing look at his beloved, he carefully removed his hand from tousled white hair and slipped out of their bed. The Tower air was cool against what skin the crystal had spared, and he was quick to pull his flowing black shift over his head. 

As he’d done every night for the last week, he padded softly in his bare feet across the crystalline floor and made his way out of their chambers and down the hallway for the portal to the Umbilicus. He gave a chuff of annoyance upon his arrival at the mess he’d left for himself, tomes and scrolls scattered about haphazardly, the remains of afternoon tea yet untidied on his desk. 

Truthfully, he was annoyed with himself in general. Annoyed that he couldn’t sleep, that he was creeping out of their rooms every night, that looking at these calculation logs vexed him so, that he couldn’t stop looking, that he had yet to find the courage to fill his newest log with any research of import. 

Tail lashing with equal parts disgruntlement and trepidation, he made his way to his desk and took a steadying breath, scraped back his chair, and sat down.

There it was, his newest, bright red log, titled in a barely legible scrawl, a clear indication of his lack of confidence.

“Return”, it said simply, because he had not been able to bear writing anything more. He pursed his lips, opened the tome to reveal its accusing blank pages, and clasped his hands in his lap. 

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t written about this before. When he’d first started doing his research into how to get the Scions home, a wild notion had seized him, and he’d made a furtive scribble in the margins. 

_ Space for additional souls? _

But he’d promptly struck it through, shamed with his daring even where only he might see, determined not to be distracted from more important matters.

The notion never left his heart though, plucked at his soul as he was continually subjected to his inspiration’s presence as they fought the sin eaters, as the Scions began inviting him to dinner, as he listened in the shadows when Evi’a played his violin at the Wandering Stairs.

And then they’d won, his hood had come down, and under the twinkling stars of Il Mheg, Evi’a had professed to love him. 

It felt as though his very aether had burst into bloom, wildflowers spreading uncontrollably over the landscape of his dreams, ivy reaching for the light of the sun and latching on to every nook and cranny Evi’a’s soul would allow. 

That was when he’d made his first half-page notation about how his own soul might take to a crystal, his cheeks flushed with Reborn Red and heart alight with the joy of loving and being loved, the satisfaction of a cause completed, the happiness of his people at The Return—their first annual victory feast. 

The next day, he’d squinted blearily at what he’d written as he nursed a middling hangover, and promptly tucked that log in particular out of sight. 

How could he be so selfish, to waste his time on personal research when he had yet to find a way to return the Scions, when his granddaughter was here, when he had a city to lead through the coming years of growth and change?

And so he stifled his wishes, turned down invitations from his love for the little trips and adventures he’d so longed for, forced himself to be dutifully satisfied within the confines of the Umbilicus, drove himself to desperation and exhaustion. 

That was when he’d gone too far and suggested to the assembled Scions that he would be willing to die to send them home. 

In retrospect he should have expected their ire, his dear one’s expression of anger and hurt. But at the time, once they’d finally left, it was all he could do to flee to the Umbilicus and sink to the floor in shock, his back pressed hard against the gilded doors.

They wanted him to  _ live _ , firmly believed that his life belonged to Evi’a. And after all these centuries, was it not time to acknowledge that they were right? For all he loved the citizens of the Crystarium and his dear granddaughter, he would never be able to contain his soul within these azure walls again, would never again manage the asceticism and reticence it had taken to drag himself this far.

His heart had been irreparably swayed, his hopes struggling against self-inflicted fetters to be set free upon the eternal wind flowing through the rift and onward to the star of his birth.

He stared down at the blank page, the scope of its potential daunting, challenging, welcoming. He knew himself. If he allowed himself to begin this research, he would pursue it with a driven fervor, would never turn back until he found a way for his own soul to join the Scions when finally they journeyed home. 

He bit his lip, reached for his quill. 

Over a century he’d spent here, thinking only of others, only of the salvation of two stars. And now, his people were capable, eyes set to the future with excitement, purpose, and hope. His granddaughter, bless her stalwart soul, she would forgive him, would not wish him to cage himself for the rest of his life. 

It was enough. After all these years, it was enough. No more standing aside in the shadows with an aching heart, no more smothering the flames of his personal hopes and dreams, no more holding back. It was time to reach out his hand just as he’d told himself he would, time to seize the life he’d always dreamed of at his beloved’s side. 

The life that he hoped, after all this time, he deserved.

His ears perked with determination. With the beginnings of a bittersweet smile curving his lips, he set his quill to the page and began to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always been fascinated with the process the Exarch must have gone through to allow himself to begin taking on the personal research that would bring his soul home, for all he would give up and for all he stood to gain. Not only that, to do so, he would have had to acknowledge his own worth to some degree, and his right to happiness. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, comments and kudos are writer fuel and always appreciated!
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	4. Muster--(Alphinaud, Alisaie, Urianger, Thancred, Y'shtola, Ryne, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a few days time the Scions will be leaving the First to return to the Source, and as this beautiful star has granted them all varying degrees of joy and self-understanding, there is much upon which to fondly reflect ere they depart.

Alisaie smiled as she looked down to the residents of the Inn at Journey’s Head from the patrol post, then pulled down her goggles and cast her eyes back to the clear blue horizon, sand-laced wind whipping back her braid and stinging her cheeks.

The Inn had originally been given its rather lofty title in dignified grief--it was where those afflicted by the Light went to die, where they looked to the sky and hoped that when their time came, their souls would pass beyond eternal day unto the stars. How often had she stood at this post, guarding these people that they might pass their final days in peace? How many times had she wept for the final gift of poisoned fruit to a child, a caretaker felled in the course of their work? 

All that was done now, and she knew that it was in part due to her own efforts...but she would never forget this place, nor the important lessons she’d learned here. 

Namely, to learn to let go and move on. 

It was not that she’d become numb to watching people die, more that she’d come to accept it as a natural stage of life, a necessary parting. While the pain was deep, the death of those near her no longer inspired the clawing, desperate fear in her heart for the sake of the others she loved, the reckless abandon for her own safety that had come in the wake of her grandfather’s passing. Until she’d come to the First, her entire existence had been scored by that terror, in every waking moment, but no more. 

She had places to go, causes to fight for, and she was  _ free _ . Well, as free as she wanted to be, she amended, grinning down at the miqo’te who had come to collect her. It was all well and good to do as she liked on her own, but to be valued as a companion by such a warrior was more than welcome. It was time to go home.

Alphinaud’s brow furrowed as he paused in his brushstrokes, listening to Master Chai negotiate a rather prickly deal regarding the trade of ale between Tomra and Eulmore. The dwarves normally did not bother with markets outside their borders, but peaceful times called for entrepreneurial measures. It did not sound as though it were going badly though, and anyway, this was not his business. 

It eased his heart, he thought as he returned to the painting, to see how well the citizens of Eulmore--and Kholusia at large--had done for themselves, and he appreciated that first year he spent on his own in Stilltide more than he would care to admit to the rest of the Scions. 

He loved Evi’a, had loved him for longer than he could say, and the long separation had given him the time he needed to come to graceful terms with the fact that his feelings would never be returned. Not that he’d ever confessed; he knew better, and it would break the Keeper’s heart to hurt him. 

In truth, his need to get away and sort himself out lent a good deal to his decision to travel to the Empire, but with that quest cut short, he was relieved that he had some opportunity to prove his worth in the missions to eradicate Black Rose. But it was not enough, and though he was not proud of the fact, he resented having to follow in Gaius’ footsteps for safety. Upon his arrival in Stilltide however, he was alone, free to make of himself what he wished, to prove to himself that he was a worthy man without hanging on to Evi’a’s coattails at every turn, that his unrequited love was not a childish infatuation but the result of a mature respect for the kind soul and hard work of his dearest friend. 

And it had been difficult, following Evi’a’s example, learning to drop his preconceived notions and  _ listen _ when people spoke, to understand the difference between what they needed and what he thought they needed. And so he did odd jobs, worked in sparse fields, lent his advice to simple economic issues...but most of all, he learned about people, about how what he said affected them, about how no matter where he went he would play a part in the lives of others. Perhaps not a large part, but his actions would cause ripples. He’d always understood this on a grander scale, but to see the effects of his influence in terms of the everyday lives of others on a daily basis had been eye opening. 

He wasn’t sure he’d have ever learned this lesson at Evi’a’s side, that he’d have found it in himself to give the people of Eulmore the benefit of the doubt, that he’d have been able to befriend the Chais as he had. 

He loved Evi’a, but gods, more and more, how much he just loved people in general. There was so much color in every individual soul, an unseen battle in every heart, a thousand shining little facets that the light might catch on at any moment. He smiled as he looked to Dulia Chai, taking her tea with a fond smile for her husband, and added a few more deft brush strokes to her hair. It was a shame that he was painting such wonderful individuals in monotone, that this was all he had time for. Then again, what was the white of his canvas if not the result of all colors mixing as one, the black of his paint serving to emphasize and bring out the beauty of their love? The refinement of character that knowing them had granted him?

His sister would say he was being pretentious, and she would probably be correct. He laughed to himself, made an effort to focus his attention on his work. Evi’a would be coming soon to call him back to the Crystarium--the miqo’te always came for him or his sister first--and he needed to make sure this painting was done to his satisfaction. 

  
  
  


Urianger shifted his eyes to the left, to the right, then dipped a finger into what was done of his cake batter so far. 

It was not ruined yet, but it would be.

“How long until it’s ready?” a bright viridian little pixie whined, and he gave an affected tsk. 

“‘T’would be prepared far sooner, but for thy interfering amusements,” he chided, and the pixie blew a raspberry at him, darted up the stairs in a flurry of sparks. He followed its progress with raised eyebrows, smiling to himself as he noted the springy moss and verdant wildflowers already sprouting on the stairwell. Well, it wasn’t as though the cottage had ever been his in the first place, and he supposed the fae folk could do as they pleased, now that it was soon to be returned to their care. 

He knew his fellow Scions to be tolerant of the pixies at best, but for his part, he appreciated their pranks and come-what-may attitudes dearly, loved them for, of all things, grounding him in reality. 

Even as a Scion he had long held himself apart, both from absorption with his work and because he had never been particularly skilled at relating to others. Ever since his solitude led him to make the painful decision to mislead his dearest friends, he had resolved to attempt to be more open, to join them on their ventures, to make amends in whatever way he might...only to find himself typecast back into the same part, courtesy of the Crystal Exarch’s mission. Not that he begrudged the man his request, but to labor through lies by omission and false pretenses had already worn on his soul so deeply. 

The pixies, bless their fey little hearts, did not give a fig about his missions of import, his melancholy brooding, or indeed his wishes for any privacy at all. He woke to find his hair woven into tangles of braids, returned from the hot springs to find his smallclothes tied in knots, sat down to tea and found himself drinking peppered water...or worse, sometimes. But every time, it reminded him that there was a simpler life outside all of his plotting and planning, that there would always be people who would wish to engage with him, that it was important to be able to laugh at himself.

In an odd sort of way, it reminded him of Moenbryda, of their happiest moments together, and that for a brief time he’d once considered becoming a father. Well, perhaps was still considering it one day...he’d come to love Ryne dearly in the intermittent moons she and Thancred had spent living at the cottage. The cake was a parting gift for her, her favorite with cinnamon and faerie apples. Oft he’d made it just to see the spark return to her eyes on difficult days. 

Speaking of sparks...He finished stirring the dry ingredients into the wet, then reached in for a taste, and grimaced.

Pure salt. 

He played up his reaction well, lamenting that he would have to start over again, that he’d wasted his ingredients, handed over the ruined mess to the gleeful pixies and watched as they shot out the door with their prize to do gods only knew what. Once he was certain they were gone he shook his head with a rueful smile and pulled his completed secondary batch out of the lower cabinets, quietly panned it, and placed it in the oven to bake. It probably wouldn’t be ready by the time Evi’a showed up, but he had a special delivery for the miqo’te to make to Wolekdorf anyway. 

  
  
  


Although she knew he would not magically appear, Y’shtola cast her eyes about Slitherbough, hoping she might finally catch sight of Runar returned from wherever he’d run off to. She gave a huff of annoyance, put out with her poor attempt to lie to herself. She knew where he was--off picking those flowers she loved, the flowers that he’d filled her chambers with all of this past week. 

Sometimes, when she was in a particular sort of mood, she did wish for a different life. After the close call of her initial Flow casting, and the later near miss with Zenos, there was a part of her that worried for herself, for her foolish risk taking for all she preached the wisdom of patience to her companions. More than ever she appreciated her own mortality, and as she’d said to her sister shortly before being pulled to the First, there was a corner of her heart that was looking with weighing consideration at getting married. To whom had been beside the point, she was sure she could find someone if she set her mind to it. 

How apt and how bittersweet it was that she should find that sought after companion on a star where she might not linger. 

She loved Slitherbough as she’d never loved another place in her life. The people were good, hardworking, straightforward, and clever, the frugal simplicity of their lives endearing, the lack of ulterior motives refreshing. Despite the daily struggle against the sin eaters there was a sort of joyful endurance, an appreciation for life that she took to heart. How novel as well to find a place where she was respected but not revered, sought out but not inconvenienced, regarded as a leader but effortlessly invited into the everyday lives of the villagers. She suspected that her love for Runar was in part a natural extension of her love for the Night’s Blessed, and increasingly she knew that she would do anything for them.

That, unfortunately, would not do, and she knew it from the start. Much as she loved this life, loved these people, she would never be suffered to stay. 

And so she tempered her responses to Runar’s affections, as much as she could bear. Even so, somehow he came to learn how to cook all of her favorite dishes, knew when she needed herbal teas--and which ones for which conditions--without ever having to ask. He knew when she needed company and when she needed solitude, when she would welcome reading snuggled up next to him near the fire, when she needed for him to keep his distance but remain present. In return, she told him stories, read to him what he could not, mended his robes when they chanced to rip, remained by his side when the burden of his responsibility to guide the departed to the stars grew too great. And in a moment of weakness, when she grew wistful for her own family with which to share Starlight, she gave him one of the feathers from her headdress. 

In short, they had become partners in all but name, and while she tried to keep her conscience clear through reiterating over and over again that she would not stay, her heart ached for the future dangling before them that they might never reach out and grasp. 

Unless, of course, she did something about that. 

Evi’a would come for her soon, as he always did, and they would return to the Source as they must. However, she was nothing if not a gifted and driven mage, granted extraordinary talents by all her dances with death. In time, she would learn how to cast a Flow of a different nature, one that set her soul alight on the winds of the rift until she glided back into Runar’s arms and spent the rest of her days delighting in the mysteries of Ronka and the simplicity of a well made stew. 

  
  
  


Thancred heaved a sigh of exasperation and finally gave in--it was time to find a likely rock on which to sit and shake the sand out of his boots. In so much as he’d spent a good deal of time in Amh Araeng, he’d never been particularly fond of the desert. Sand in too many places he didn’t know he had, grit wearing sore spots into his skin, finding scorpions nestled away in his pockets in the morning, as eager as he was to be out of the heat. 

But he’d needed to come here, needed to pay his respects to Minfilia one last time. Now that she’d passed, now that the fear and stress had gone with her, he found himself wondering if it was truly her whom he’d loved, or the image of her that he’d conjured for himself in his head. True, they’d spent a good deal of time together when they were younger, but once they’d become Scions, the nature of his work oft carried him so far afield that he rarely saw her for anything more than a few days in her role as leader of their company. But his heart never forgot the night she invited him in after a hard day’s work at mining, how he’d stood outside the gates looking into the warm hearth of her home and simultaneously felt the most wistful and the most alienated that he’d ever felt in his life. 

How could that life belong to him, how could such warmth and dedication be his to share? He’d never known what a real family was like--even his relationship to Louisoix was one of mutual benefit rather than familial ties. 

All these years later, he’d come to realize that his decision to let those gates close on his chances that he might embrace the comfort of easier, fleeting relationships was one of the most foolish of his life. As he’d learned by now, he  _ was _ capable of loving and being loved in return, of being a valued member of a group of people who cared for one another. By no means was he  _ good _ at it--his heart went out to Ryne for all she’d put up with from his middling, conflicted attempts at fatherhood--but he was capable. 

How proud he was of her, of all that she’d accomplished, of how she walked with her shoulders squared and her eyes firmly set on a future that only she could see. He had thought that he would be devastated to leave her behind, yet while his heart ached at never being able to see her again, the girl’s formidability was clear. She would be able to move on without him, hold her head high, and it would be a shame if he could not do the same himself. 

But where the old him would accept this parting with thoughts that she was better off without him, the man he’d become through serving as her father knew such an inclination would be doing both of them a disservice. He loved her, had wished to give her life some manner of stability. In part he’d failed, and bless Urianger for unfailingly swooping in to give her the support she needed when he could not, but he was not about to stop trying now. Evi’a could still travel the rift easily, and it would be but a small matter for him to carry letters and packages back and forth between an interdimensionally estranged family. 

It wasn’t ideal, but it was what they had, and he would spend the rest of his life reminding his little girl that she was loved.

  
  


Ryne sat back on the roof of the tavern and watched wistfully as Evi’a greeted Thancred and they spoke with the Twine villagers. The miqo’te had finally come to collect her father, and as she’d heard from Urianger via linkpearl that the others were gathered, they would be making their departure soon. Even just a couple moons prior she’d cried herself to sleep at night thinking of this, but now, with everything done and her own quest unfolding before her, she could think of moving on with a hopeful and determined heart. It helped as well that Gaia would be with her, that their contrasting natures complemented one another so well. And Evi’a would come to see her, of that she was certain.

It would be good for her, she reasoned, to see what she was capable of on her own. Her companions this past year had raised her up, given her the courage to pursue what she might accomplish with her own life rather than giving over to the other soul residing within. They believed in her, respected her as an equal, helped her learn to lift her chin in defiance and speak her mind. She was no longer the cowering little girl Thancred had rescued from the confines of Eulmore--she was a fighter, accomplished in her own right, and it was time to prove to herself what she could do.

That said, she wished Evi’a had come to collect her as well. She knew she couldn’t go with them, but to be an outsider hurt, even if she knew it was childish. It was fine, of course she would go along back to the Crystarium with them, but in her role as Thancred’s daughter rather than as one with like cause. She shook her head, came back to herself from her thoughts. She frowned to realize that she couldn’t see them anymore--perhaps they were looking for her. She’d best come down from the roof. 

She stopped with surprise, however, when a pair of silvery ears flicked up above the eaves, followed by the rest of the Keeper as he made his way up the wall ladder. 

“Thought I saw you up here!” he said with a grin. 

“Oh goodness, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I was just meaning to climb down, I didn’t mean to keep you two waiting.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind coming to get you,” he said warmly. “We can sit up here for a spell if you like--the stars are beautiful tonight.”

She smiled, tears stinging her eyes as joy surged in her heart. 

“They are, aren’t they?” she said, as he moved to sit next to her on the yet sun-warmed tin. “Thank you, Evi’a.”

  
  


A day later found the Keeper standing in the Ocular for the last time in this cherished company, ears pricked with anticipation of all that was to come. He looked to his dearest companions in turn, gave Ryne a solemn nod of promise. And then, because it felt right to do so, he lovingly removed and unwrapped the one crystal already by his side, pressed it close against his heartbeat. 

“The troops are all mustered, Raha. You ready to go home?” he murmured, running a thumb affectionately over warm stone.

There was an unmistakable answering pulse of radiant joy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up long by virtue of everyone being included--I wanted Evi'a to muster his companions for their return home, and enjoyed considering the thoughts of the Scions and Ryne as they're facing the end of their treasured time on the First.
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, comments and kudos are writer fuel and always welcome!
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like :D


	5. Clinch--(Astin/J'bhen Tia, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a year since he gave in and went to see Bhen's exhibition at The Rising. Astin made a promise to his love that day, and now it's time to follow through. A sequel to my fic "Dreams Born of Sand", though it's not necessary to read that to follow this one. 

Astin swallowed, his stomach in knots as he made his way home from work down the stone path toward The Sultana’s Breath, rehearsing what he might say to Bhen. 

Today was the day, and he wanted this to go well.

In the year since Bhen had put on his first stained glass exhibition of the Sultana’s Seven, the artist’s popularity had skyrocketed. All of Ul’dah had seen what the miqo’te was capable of, and within a fortnight of the opening Bhen had received several indications of interest in person. Astin had been present a few of the times that the wealthy had spoken to his love, and the miqo’te was so pleased and beside himself that he might have patrons, it was all Astin could do not to bury his face in his hands. 

Without question the Seeker wasn’t going to charge enough, was going to create whatever was asked of him in his delight with being noticed. Already his love was coming home happy but absolutely worn out every night with all the talking he was doing--he’d never been in the limelight, tended to prefer the quiet of his studio to socializing and parties. And he did tend to get ill when he overworked himself. 

So it was that once The Rising ended, Astin pitched him the idea of a permanent gallery. He’d scouted out a shuttered restaurant off the Sapphire Avenue Exchange that was run down enough that the price wasn’t too dear, and the foot traffic nearby wasn’t bad. They’d gone to look at it together, and the light in Bhen’s eyes as he’d imagined his artistic dreams coming to fruition was worth all of the work that followed after. 

For the following month, Bhen went back to his painting as usual, while Astin cleaned, painted, and otherwise refurbished the old place into a modestly elegant showroom, “Dreams Born of Sand”. Together they’d gone through the Seeker’s works and picked the ones they liked best (and that Bhen was willing to part with) and hauled them across town to lovingly put them on display. 

How nervous his love had been on the opening day that no one would come, so much so that he very nearly remained at home. But Astin had done his legwork putting the word out, and the artist needn’t have worried. Within an hour of opening the gallery doors, five paintings were spoken for, and Astin was on the way to clinching the sale of two more. Bhen was lovely and charismatic and bubbly throughout the whole day, all warm smiles and flicking ears. It did his heart well to see it...but as he’d expected, when he shuttered the windows and hung out the “Closed” sign, Bhen sagged into the chair behind the counter.

“Oh Astin,” he’d said, giving a watery laugh as he scrubbed at his face. 

“Are you alright?” the hyur asked quietly, moving behind the counter himself to kneel at his love’s side. The miqo’te peeked at him through his fingers with a smile.

“We made a lot of money, didn’t we?” 

“Yeah,” he said affectionately, reaching up to smooth trembling ears. “We sure did.”

“I’m...I’m really...thank you Astin. I never thought I’d...thank you,” he murmured, sliding off the chair into the hyur’s lap to bunt up under his chin. Astin leaned back against the wall, let him settle.

“I’m sensing there’s a ‘but’ in there,” he prompted, rubbing his cheek against sleek brown ears. 

“I...I don’t think I can do this every day,” Bhen admitted in a small voice. “Pray don’t mistake me, this has been one of the happiest days of my life, but…”

“It’s alright, Bhen,” he reassured, running hands down his love’s back. “That’s what you’ve got me for. This is my part of the business, remember? Otherwise I’m just mooching off the popularity of a very handsome and talented artist.” The Seeker gave a chuff against his neck, was quiet for a little while. 

“I didn’t expect to feel this way, but I don’t like knowing what people are paying for my art. If you’re going to do this for me, I...could you just keep it to yourself? If you tell me we have money and we’re set, that’s good enough for me,” he said softly. “I’m just happy that there’s interest, that other people like my work enough to want it in their homes.” 

And so Bhen stayed at his apartment and painted what he would, though every so often he turned out another stained glass piece for the gallery, and showed his face at the shop at least once a moon to keep up appearances. For his part, Astin kept advertising steady, and negotiated prices for Bhen’s work with great pride and relish. There was not much at which he was legitimately talented, but concentrated effort and business management were his fortes, and within half a year they had more money than he’d ever seen in all the years of his life combined. 

And now, a year later to the day from the close of The Rising exhibition, Astin had clinched the deal on a stained glass piece of Nald’thal that left them with enough money to comfortably buy a house. 

The question was, would Bhen want to? 

The past year had been an amazing accomplishment of teamwork, and for his part, he was happier than he’d ever been in his life. He and Bhen were working together nearly seamlessly as equals in both their private and financial relationships, their success a perfect blend of the miqo’te’s talent and his own business acumen. He was proud of Bhen, and for once, he was proud of himself, had never realized that he wasn’t before, that he’d struggled his whole life with feeling inadequate.

That insecurity had led him to do a number of things he regretted, and once they had the money he’d donated to the businesses and families he’d bilked, and by mutual agreement the proceeds of several paintings had gone to the Sultana’s Hands, a newly founded orphanage near Frondale’s Phrontistery. 

However, no one had suffered from his years of depression and miserly, ill-advised behavior more than Bhen, and no matter what they’d accomplished in these last, glorious twelve moons, he wasn’t sure that it was enough that the miqo’te would feel comfortable giving up his personal space in favor of a shared roof over their heads.

But he’d promised a year ago that he would ask in a year’s time, and he had to honor that promise. Would Bhen remember? Was he waiting for it? Or was he so caught up in his new success that he’d let his memory of the promise slip by? Both possibilities were equally terrifying. 

He felt as a boy again in the early days of their relationship as he fidgeted outside Bhen’s door for a spell before gathering up the courage to knock. 

“It’s open!” Bhen called, and he carefully cracked open the door as he’d learned to do of late, lest the miqo’te had absent-mindedly left a painting leaning there to dry. 

That was not the case today however, and he stepped gingerly through a maze of piles of washed paint-rags, jars of cullet and potash, trays of completed stained glass sheets, and other art paraphernalia that had accumulated over the past moons now that they had gil to spare. He used to raise his eyebrows at the mess, but was well beyond that by now. 

“How was work today?” Bhen asked from above with a grin, forgoing the ladder altogether to leap down from his painting loft and land nimbly amongst the clutter. Astin blinked and shook his head with a rueful smile--sometimes he forgot that his partner was miqo’te, and his rare shows of physical grace were always a pleasant surprise. 

“It went well. We sold the Nald’thal piece,” he said, and Bhen gave a happy chuff, tail swishing into a curl of victory. 

“Oh, I do hope they enjoy it, I know the gloomy colors aren’t my usual style but it was good to try something different,” he said, easily tiptoeing through the organized chaos to wrap the hyur in a warm embrace. 

“They will,” he answered simply. It was a shame Bhen didn’t want to know about the money, because it was truly impressive what people were beginning to pay for his work...and the Seeker deserved every single gil. 

He deserved everything Astin had to offer as well. 

“Bhen,” he ventured, swallowing again as he worked up his courage. “I was wondering...pray don’t feel as though you must answer now, but…” He took a shaky breath as the Seeker pulled back, regarded him with a serious, expectant expression. 

Oh gods, he _was_ waiting for it. Astin cleared his throat and rallied on. 

“If you’d like, we..we’ve done well for ourselves, and I vowed to you a year past that I would ask, so...if you’re amenable, perhaps, do you want to get a house together?” Bhen raised his eyebrows but said nothing, and the hyur’s cheeks colored. 

“We don’t have to right now, if you don’t...if you’re not comfortable with it. I was just thinking, we’d get something middling sized, and...and the top floor, you could have the whole place for a studio, and we could build a proper workshop in the back for your own glass furnace so you wouldn’t have to share anymore, and the bottom floor would be ours...and we could...we could wake up together each day, and I’d make us breakfast in our own kitchen…” he trailed off, realizing he was rambling, wondering about the tremble in his love’s smile, the tears in his eyes. 

“I didn’t think you’d remember,” Bhen said softly, and the hyur’s heart ached as he reached up to lovingly tuck back a stray lock of caramel brown hair that had worked free of the artist’s ponytail. 

“I’ve been counting the days ever since,” he whispered, closing his eyes as his love leaned forward to bunt their foreheads together. 

“As have I,” the Seeker answered with a purr. Strong arms came up to fold the hyur in a warm embrace, a single joyful word was breathed between them, and just like that, they granted themselves their lifelong dream of a loving home together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I'm not done with these two :P
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	6. Matter of Fact--(WoL/G'raha, M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's been a mistake at the tailor's, but G'raha is not about to let a gift from his beloved inspiration go to waste. Alternately, G'raha could rock a Dirndl and we all know it.

“Welcome back!” Evi’a said cheerfully, giving the belt of his new festival attire a final adjustment as his love returned from inspecting the Tower seals. “All the enchantments still in working order?” G’raha nodded with a smile as he hung his staff near their chamber door.

“Is that what you’ll be wearing for today’s performance then? I’m looking forward to hearing you play the clarinet,” the Seeker said, pushing aside empty clothing boxes to sit on the bed.

“Er, it won’t be my usual sort of music, but hopefully you find it pleasing nonetheless.” It would be good to play the Gridanian Autumn Fest again, after having missed it the last two years for being abroad with his duties. It was his favorite time of year, the cool breeze a blessing to his thick fur, the trees bursting with color, the air alight with the scent of chestnut, pumpkin, and apple sweets laced with cinnamon. To find himself reaching this season blessed with Raha at his side and a lull in the fighting at the same time felt almost too good to be true.

“I’m sure it will be lovely. Hopefully we have time to enjoy some of the food together, I used to quite enjoy festival fare,” the mage said with a nostalgic smile.

“Hope you like sausage and beer then,” Evi’a answered, checking his hat in the mirror. “I’m not so fond of beer, and I’m particular about my sausage, but there’s usually nice apple pies, come to think.”

“Particular about your sausage, are you?” Raha asked innocently enough behind him. 

Evi’a turned and squinted at him for good measure.

“When I lived with my tribe we used to make a fine deer sausage, and nothing else has ever compared. Now,” he said, dusting his hands of that conversation as he moved to rummage under the bed and pull out a handsomely patterned box.“Hopefully you’ll like this.”

“What is it?” Raha asked, ears flicking curiously as the Keeper set the parcel on the bed and carefully worked off the lid.

“Seeing as this is your first time for the Autumn Fest, I thought you might...oh,” he said blankly, staring down at a beautifully patterned red and white...dress. “Oh no.”

He rubbed at his face as the Seeker rose to stand beside him and peer at the contents of the package.

“Was this meant to be for me?” he asked softly, reaching out to run his fingers over brilliant crimson fabric. 

“It was, but something must have gotten crossed with the tailor,” Evi’a answered, tail lashing with embarrassed frustration. “It’s the right pattern and colors, and I sent them your sizes, noted it was for my partner...ah,” he said with realization. “Perhaps they just assumed my partner was a woman.”

“That seems very presumptuous of them,” the Seeker murmured, lifting the dress from the box with an unreadable expression, the tip of his tail flicking. “This is beautiful work though.” 

“It is, it’s such a shame, and it’s too late to return it. Gods, I should have checked when I went to pick it up. Pity Alisaie is too tall now to wear it, it might have suited her.” 

“Are you thinking to give away my gift?” the mage asked, raising a brow. 

“Well, you’re not going to wear it,” Evi’a answered, disappointed that his gesture had gone so awry.

“As a matter of fact…” his Raha said, holding up the blouse and looking it over with an appreciative eye, “I think I will.”

“Er...what?” the Keeper asked, nonplussed as his love began to shed his clothes on the spot. 

“My dear Evi’a,” the mage said, voice muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head, “I have been blessed with a second lease on life, and I intend to spend it doing what I wish, within reason.” He tossed the shirt aside, began undoing the laces of his trousers as the bard watched, stunned into silence. “As it happens the love of my life has bought me some exceptional festive attire, and I mean to wear it. Now, help me into this, I don’t think I can manage the ties in the back on my own.”

Evi’a mouth worked for a moment as he tried to summon up something pertinent to say, but the mage gave an expectant perk of his ears, and there was nothing for it but to do as he bid. 

Neither of them spoke, an odd sort of tension shimmering in the air as Evi’a cinched the skirt perfectly snug against a trim waistline and eased the mage’s soft red tail free, watched the freckles of his love’s back disappear beneath the lace of a pure white blouse, carefully ran black ribbons through eyelets down the back of the fitted crimson bodice and tied them in an elegant bow. Several times he thought to question, but the nature of what he wished to ask was a mystery to him. He also wanted to press a reverent kiss to the thin line of visible skin at the nape of his love’s neck, but something about that felt out of place. So he settled with gently pulling loose strands of the Seeker’s braid free of where they had caught under the blouse and kept his affections to himself. He had enough sense to know that there was possibly a very precious sort of self discovery happening, and he didn’t want to trivialize the moment with misplaced words.

“I believe all that’s left is the apron,” the Seeker said, studiously not looking at him as he turned to remove it from the box. Evi’a could only watch with a trapped sort of appreciation, reminding himself to breathe. The mage canted his hips to the side in concentration as he held the apron to his waist and straightened it, the sensual lines of his lithe form intoxicating in the soft light, the expanse of his chest above the frilled bodice riveting. “I believe one is to tie the sash on this side if they’re taken,” his Raha said in a low voice, and the Keeper felt nearly deviant for how his body responded to his newfound appreciation of how the muscles in the smaller miqo’te’s powerful arms rippled as he meticulously tied the sash into a pretty bow. The bard swallowed as his love gave his work a sharp, finalizing tug...and nearly took a step back when crimson eyes flicked up to deliver the most sharply predatory glance he’d ever been subjected too

And that was saying something.

“Are there shoes that go with this?” Raha asked, his tone limned in imperious expectation to go along with the lift of his chin and his narrowed eyes. It was a moment before Evi’a registered what was being asked, but once he did he scrambled gracelessly to fetch the accompanying box from under the bed. “Ah, fantastic!” The Seeker said brightly, dropping to sit on the bed and lifting his skirt to work on his new footwear. The drape of the crimson fabric against exposed calves was mesmerizing, and Evi’a canted his ears back and looked away, utterly flustered. 

“There, all done,” the mage declared, and the Keeper couldn’t help but look again as his beloved rose and took an experimental spin. “It fits perfectly, you’ve certainly got my sizes down. Do you think it suits?” 

Evi’a made a strained sound. The Seeker’s eyes were bright and happy, but the bard did not miss the element of fierce amusement in the set of his lips, nor the tell of self consciousness in the flush of his freckled cheeks.

Certainly he was being roundly teased on a number of levels, but there was also something else at play here that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, even with his empathetic Echo.

“You look amazing, Raha,” he said, because it was simple and true, and he didn’t dare to chance an elaboration. The mage’s ears perked joyfully at the compliment, and Evi’a could only blink as he found his clarinet case shoved eagerly into his arms.

“Well, come along then, you wouldn’t want to be late—you’re playing in an ensemble this time, are you not?” his love asked, already gracefully whisking his way out the door. 

“Are you..” he started to ask, but it was obvious that his Raha  _ did _ intend to go out in his new raiment, and as he belatedly followed he was just in time to catch a bright whirl of skirts as the Seeker disappeared into the Seventh Heaven, every eye in the Rising Stones trained on him as he made his exit.

Within short order, all of those gazes were turned on him.

“Well,” Thancred said with a smirk, “is anyone else in the room going to ask the obvious question, or shall I martyr myself?” 

“This isn’t...we aren’t...there was a mistake at the tailor’s!” he exclaimed, coloring under their varied speculative expressions.

“Sure there was,” Alisaie muttered, rolling her eyes and going back to her tea. 

“He looks better than I do in this dress,” Tataru sighed, glancing forlornly down at her own soft pink Dirndl. 

“Oh come now Tataru, you look adorable,” Alphinaud said warmly, then winced and hid behind his tome as she leveled scrunched eyes in his direction. 

“Ha! Well, I’d certainly buy a beer or three off him,” Krile said with a sharp grin, then shook her head with fond amusement. “Honestly, I’m just happy to see him enjoying himself again. You should have seen what he got up to back on Val when the mood seized him...truly, this is nothing in comparison.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do more with this but I didn't have time, and I think it ends well enough here...might follow it up later. Also I appreciate the art that's going around of G'raha in the Dirndl very much :D


	7. Unfettered--(WoL/G'raha, rated E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the Dirndl fic. G'raha thoroughly enjoys his freedom at the Autumn Fest and plots his way toward fulfilling a lifelong whimsy. 

It was so difficult to concentrate on diligently playing his part when his Raha was down in the audience apparently having the time of his life. If he was self conscious about his choice of attire he did not show it. In fact, the mage was possibly the most vibrant that Evi’a had seen him since he’d stepped foot out of the confines of the Tower.

The Keeper was a little disappointed that his love couldn’t sit and watch him play—the Fest was short handed, as these events always seemed to be, and since the ever helpful Warrior of Light was already occupied, his partner had been wheedled into serving beer and soft pretzels instead. Not that Raha seemed to mind—he was all smiles and wheeling skirts as he flitted from table to table, enjoying his temporary stint at customer service. The Seeker’s bright exuberance was immensely distracting, and the way carrying several pints at once made his biceps flex did not help the bard sit any more comfortably in his seat. 

To his credit he only dropped a note once, and that was when an enterprising old elezen well into his cups saw fit to reach out and give Raha’s arse a tweak as he passed by. The Seeker actually backtracked a few steps to give the drunk what Evi’a had affectionately coined “the full Exarch” over their couple moons of minor adventuring; he regally drew himself up to his full diminutive height, squared his shoulders, pinned his ears, narrowed his eyes, and fixed his target with the most witheringly imperious glare Evi’a had ever occasioned to see on either side of the rift. The offender hunched on his bench to the laughter of his companions, and when the Seeker did not budge, scrambled up and fled. 

Gods, what an effort it was not to laugh when Raha turned a bright, victorious grin his way, but he was in the middle of a piece. 

That the mage could make himself a threat to be reckoned with even in a Dirndl with an armful of beers was little surprise—he had years of experience in leadership and dealing with the likes of Vauthry and Ranjit, after all—but the wicked little crossbow hanging off his sash probably also helped. 

Independent weapon dealers often set up near the Autumn Fest, showing off their wares and putting on demonstrations of their art. Just outside the gates this year was a stall with a lovely array of bows hung in the back and a selection of elegantly carved crossbows on the counter. He’d whistled in appreciation and pointed it out to Raha, thinking to have a look later when he had more time, but his love’s eyes had widened, and he’d made a beeline for the display.

“Ilsabard crossbows, Evi’a!” he’d exclaimed, eyes alight as the bard caught up to him. “I haven’t seen these since...well, since just before…” he faltered, eyes darting back to the display as he fidgeted with his hands. 

Evi’a reached out and rested a comforting hand on the Seeker’s beribboned lower back. He would never forget how fond Raha was of his crossbow when they were exploring the Tower together, all those years ago. It was one of the only mementos he brought from home, and had been ever at his side...and had gotten them into trouble more than a few times when a younger Raha bit off more than he could chew. Where it had disappeared to, Evi’a had never thought to ask in the wake of everything that happened after. Honestly he’d been relieved to see that as the Exarch he’d given it up, and the potential return of that particular brand of mischief gave him pause. But looking to his love’s nostalgic, wistful eyes and the soft sweep of his ears as he examined the work, he couldn’t help but sigh and smile.

“Do you want one?” he asked, and the mage cast him a glance of raw longing before he looked back to the display. He opened his mouth and started to speak, stopped, pursed his lips.

“Yes,” he said softly, “very much.” The Keeper’s heart nearly melted at his love’s quiet admission—it was so good to hear him say directly what he wanted, instead of traveling the meandering path about whether or not he really needed and/or deserved it, if he could bear to spend their money on personal things, and so on and so on. 

Their gil for fest fare was considerably diminished, but for his love’s sparkling eyes as he clipped the red, black, and gold lacquered crossbow at his side, the beautiful flush of happiness in his freckled cheeks...it was a good thing the dealer did not know Evi’a would have been willing to pay a far dearer price if it meant he could bear witness to that joy. 

And so he spent his first bell of performance time with perhaps not as much a mind on music as he ought. During his brief ten minute intermission Raha sidled up to the stage, glowing with enthused exertion, and plunked a pint down next to him before leaning to rest his elbows on the stage. 

“Thought you might appreciate a drink,” he said brightly, tail swishing. “I know you don’t care for it, but spirit of the day and all.”

Evi’a winced, but grinned in return.

“I’d probably drink anything you brought me, to be honest,” he said, appreciating the bared sweep of his love’s chest.Raha raised his eyebrows.

“Oh? I’ll keep that mind,” he returned, then smirked. “Why sir, are you looking down my bodice?” he added in a stage whisper. 

“Yes, absolutely,” Evi’a stage whispered back, and he tsked. 

“And you a pillar of the community as well,” the Seeker murmured, then crinkled his eyes and gave such an adorable chuff it was all Evi’a could do not to kiss him in front of the entire festival. 

“When you’re finished, shall we go for a walk in the forest? I’d like to see if perhaps I can find a likely target,” the mage said, once his mirth had stilled. It took Evi’a a moment to register what was said, fixated as he was on the gentle sway of his love’s tail...and other bits...as he bent over the stage. 

“What, now? I thought you’d want to pick up some food,” the Keeper said. He wasn’t overly surprised though--Raha was quite pleased about his crossbow, and it made sense that he would be eager to give it a try.

“I promise, it won’t take long,” he said earnestly, and Evi’a knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse those hopeful eyes even if he wanted to. 

And so a bell and a half later found them in the forest, Evi’a following along with increasing confusion. Judging from the angle of the light breaking through the canopy, the sun was beginning to lower, and noise from the festival had long since faded in the distance. He’d assumed that Raha would be aiming for birds or perhaps squirrels that were in season for hunting, but the Seeker didn’t appear to be interested in any of the marks that had appeared thus far...and the path was growing less and less distinct. If he’d have known his love meant to go so far afield today, he’d have brought his bow as well, and he was feeling a bit nervous without it. 

Just as he was about to question, the mage suddenly stopped, tail stiff and ears back, and indicated for him to halt. He tensed as well, scanning their surroundings for what the smaller miqo’te might have seen. They’d come to a relative clearing, though the canopy remained thick overhead. Yet peer as he might, he could find nothing of interest in the mossy undergrowth, nor any likely target in the light dappled branches. 

“Over there,” his love whispered, pointing ahead. He frowned, crept forward, senses on alert for any noise from the underbrush. 

And then, without warning, his feet were swept from beneath him, and he fell backwards with a surprised grunt into the springy moss. Quick as a flash his love was atop him, and he was so stunned it took him a moment to realize his arms had been single handedly pinned above his head.He could only gape as his Raha flashed him a heated glance of focused, sultry intent...which soon wobbled away into a snort helpless amusement. Evi’a squinted as the mage threw back his head and laughed, releasing the bard’s hands in the process.

“You...you should have seen your face!” he said around his snickering, ears flicking and tail lashing with mirth. “Ah, sweet Azeyma, I’ve wanted to catch you off guard and top you my whole life, and I managed to pull it off on the first try! Incidentally, I’ve found my mark,” he grinned, and looked so smug that Evi’a couldn’t help but laugh too as he reached up to grip at his love’s lithe waist, absolutely smitten.

“Why you--” he started, just as the Seeker hastily exclaimed,

“Don’t roll me! I don’t want to muss this dress.”

“Wh...what about my clothes, you fae brat?” he sputtered, and his love gave a sudden shy smile, a blush rising in his cheeks as he looked away. He was so beautiful outlined in the failing light of day cutting through the trees, and the Keeper was suddenly intimately aware of the smaller miqo’te’s soft, heated weight against his growing interest. Not that he needed much encouragement, mind--he’d been half driven to distraction all day.

“My clothes are a treasured gift,” the Seeker whispered after a moment, then shifted as Evi’a pressed his thumbs in a firm circle against his inner thighs through crimson fabric. “None of that,” he chided instantly, swatting the bard’s hands away. “I got here first.” The Keeper gave a chuff of amusement. 

“I wasn’t aware we were having a match,” he said amiably, awkwardly pushing himself up to sit.

“That was the idea,” Raha said loftily, and he groaned when the Seeker reached down to grind a palm against his clothed length. “I could scarce call myself a hunter if my prey knew he was being stalked.”

“Yes, yes, you win,” he said breathily as his love made short work of his trouser laces and pushed aside his smallclothes to take him in hand. He bit his lip as the Seeker began to work, and when his eyes lit on how his love’s muscular arms rippled as he set the pace, a helpless cry broke free, and he had to look away for a moment to compose himself. 

“Oh, someone’s very eager,” the Seeker purred, leaning forward and rising a few ilms to nip at a trembling silver ear. Evi’a bucked despite himself.

“Raha...” he gasped, just to feel his love’s name on his tongue, just to make sure the mage heard it. Another purr against his ears made him shudder, and he pitched forward to tangle his fingers in his glorious lover’s hair, bury his face against the rabbiting pulse at his neck. Gods, he wasn’t the only one who was eager then, and that turned him on even more. 

“I know you were watching me out there, did you perchance like what you saw?” he asked in velvet tones, nipping up the shell of an ear, changing his angle so that his thumb rubbed  _ just so _ against the tip on each tug. Evi’a groaned helplessly, unable to thrust with his love’s weight pinning him down, and in his passion pulled the mage’s simple hair tie free. 

“You looked so happy,” he panted, working the braid loose, desperately distracting himself with the sensation of silken waves of red hair running between his fingers. “Love seeing you happy, so unfettered and free,” he moaned, pressing kisses against the alluring dip of a collarbone. 

“Seven hells,” Raha growled against his ears, and the Keeper could only gasp, tail lashing as his love doubled his pace.

“Raha!” he cried, rubbing his forehead urgently against a freckled shoulder. “Raha, I--” Even in his lust addled haze, he realized that he was about to make a mess of both of them, but the hand he shakily moved to catch his spill was batted away once more. “Your dress...” he warned in a strained voice, bucking as best as he could into those sweet ministrations anyway, well past the point of no return. 

“Let me,” the Seeker commanded, and there was a brief moment of confusion and loss as his love pulled away...and then, the Keeper  _ sang  _ as a warm mouth sank down to set him free as well.

It was a while before he came to himself, jerking and gasping as a lightly burred tongue lapped him clean. He let it go on as long as he could take, mesmerized by waves of red tumbling over pale shoulders, soft ears thoughtfully swept back as the Seeker went about his task. 

“Okay, okay,” he gasped as a sweep across his tip crossed the line into oversensitivity, and the heated expression his love cast his way he rose and licked his lips nearly made the Keeper’s heart stop.

“Sweet Menphina, Raha,” he moaned, pulling him into his lap again for a kiss.

“Good?” the Seeker breathed against his lips, and he gave a hum of fervent assent.

“Your turn,” he whispered, rolling his hips up, taking in his love’s unsteady breathing as he ran his hand up under the skirt and over trembling thighs to squeeze at the Seeker through his smallclothes. 

“Ah!” he gasped, shuddering as Evi’a began to skim teasing fingers over his clothed length. “I...I daresay what I want from you right now is more than...mn! More than what…” he trailed off, eyes fluttering closed as the Keeper began grinding a palm against him. “Oh gods…!”

“What’s the matter, old man, not enough stamina for two gos in one day?” he teased, daring to run the thumb of his free hand under the bodice to brush at a dusky nipple, lapping at the Seekers exposed neck as he tipped his head back in a silent cry. “When we get home,” he murmured, moving up to nip at a twitching ear, “I promise, you can do with me…” He picked up his pace, moved to stroke at the ear that wasn’t occupied by his mouth. “...Whatever you like,” he promised silkily, and gave a pleased chuff as his Raha uttered a choked cry, hips surging forward. “I love you so much,” he whispered, working his hand against his lover as thoroughly as he could manage as the Seeker whimpered and bucked and shook through his completion.

“Oh dear,” the mage finally giggled, pitching forward to wrap his arms around his inspiration. Evi’a followed suit, pulled him close, brushed reverent kisses at his temples. 

“You’re so beautiful. It’s so good to see you happy and enjoying life,” he murmured, because he wanted the Seeker to hear it, wanted him to know he’d be present for all of his whimsies and wild notions. 

“It’s good to  _ be _ happy. It’s good to be with you,” his love whispered back, and Evi’a gave his ears a comforting smooth, heart aching as tears dripped against his shoulder. 

They sat like that for a long while, coming back to themselves, enjoying one another’s warmth and nearness. At length, the mage pulled back with a sigh and an uncomfortable squirm, reaching a hand under his skirt to pluck at his sticky smallclothes. 

“I admit, I didn’t account so much for...afterwards,” he admitted ruefully, and Evi’a laughed. 

“Well, I might have tried to get to you, but like you said, it didn’t take long. For either one of us, to be fair,” he grinned, bumping their noses together.

“I didn’t say that,” the Seeker frowned. 

“You did! Back at the stage. You said you were looking for a mark, and that it wouldn’t take long. Now I see what you were insinuating, quite confident, eh? Though, I suppose you weren’t wrong.” 

“Ah, that’s right. I’ve been in something of a mood today, you might have noticed. That part earlier quite slipped my mind,” he admitted with an abashed smile. 

“How are you doing?” Evi’a asked just in case, reaching out to brush mussed locks out of his love’s eyes. 

“I’m wonderful,” the Seeker murmured. “Better than. But,” he said, swaying a bit as he pushed himself up to stand, “these smallclothes have to go.” Evi’a watched with an amused smile he shimmied out of his black shorts, folded them in an endearing show of tidiness, and tucked them under a nearby bush. “Now, that’s one problem solved,” he declared, tail curling with satisfaction. 

“You’re just going to, er...go without, the rest of the evening?” the Keeper asked, taking his love’s outstretched hand and pulling himself up. The Seeker shrugged.

“I don’t see why not, it wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, then looked away with a distant, pensive smile. “Thank you for putting up with me today, Evi’a. I just...it’s so good to do whatever I wish, without a care in the world for what others might think. It has been a very long time.” 

“Oh Raha,” he murmured, moving to fold his love in an embrace, nuzzling soft red ears as the Seeker’s head came to rest against his shoulder. “I’m not  _ putting up _ with you. I genuinely, thoroughly enjoyed watching you have fun out there today. By all means, pray do as you will...as much as I am able, I will gladly be by your side for all of it.” The Seeker gave a heavy exhale, the tension in his shoulders relaxing by degrees. 

“Stay with me,” he murmured. 

“I will, my G’raha Tia, my Raha,” Evi’a promised, pressing kisses to his beloved’s ears as they perked with happiness. “I will.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaa I wanted to write more/better for this but ended up being super tired today x.x 
> 
> You can hmu @syrcusgardens on twitter if you like!


	8. Nonagenarian--(Lyna and G'raha, G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the occasion of her ninetieth name day, Lyna receives a letter from her grandfather in their correspondence journal and subsequently considers the path her own life will take moving forward.

_ To my dearest Lyna, _

_ Happy name day! Or near enough to it...Evi’a tells me that our times appear to be yet locked in step, give or take a day. It’s incredible to acknowledge that you’ve reached ninety years of age...I can still remember clearly the day when I first held you in my arms, a babe of little over a moon with silvery curls and tenacious fingers that gripped my ears like a vice given the slightest opportunity. Ah, but forgive the sentimental reminiscing of an old man. _

_ I do hope you like the bow we chose for you! There was a festival to welcome the autumn recently, and as it happened there was a merchant in attendance with bows from all corners of the Source. This one is of Dalmascan make, more specifically a relic of the Golmore Jungle, where the Viis of our world once made their home. Incidentally it is quite fascinating how closely the mythology of the Viera parallel that of your people…” _

Lyna smiled fondly and shook her head from time to time as she read over the ensuing four pages of their exchange journal, which waxed lyrical drawing comparisons between the history and folklore of the Viis and Viera. 

“He never could help himself when it came to history,” she murmured to herself. It was a relief to see he was still as she remembered, that he who he was in his new, liberated life was still the grandfather she knew and loved.

_ “...but how I do go on! Forgive me, but it is very fascinating, and if you should wish I can send some tomes along with Evi’a when next he visits the First.  _

_ As I considered what I might pen to you on the occasion of your name day, it occurred to me that I perhaps gave you some bad advice when you were younger, and for what it’s worth I should like to alter my counsel.  _

_ Do you remember when you turned forty, and you chose to remain afield on training exercises rather than return home to celebrate together? At the time my response was rather lackluster, to the nature that we would find another time to celebrate, seeing as how once one passed childhood name days ceased to be of much import. Oft I lost track of my own name day as well, and many were the times over the decades that we both had to stop and calculate our ages in conversation.  _

_ I was wrong for my indifference, numbed by the never ending monotony and grief from my own cause, from waking each morning for decades to face the Light and the effects thereof. Those days are over and gone, and my soul’s vision far clearer than it once was.  _

_ Now I realize, every single one of our years, all of the name days past and those remaining to us, they are all important and worthy of due ceremony. A time to celebrate our own accomplishments, our growth, the love of our families, the culmination of lessons learned from our experiences, the blessing of yet having life stretched out before us in all of its wondrous potential.  _

_ I hope, on this your ninetieth name day, you find cause once more to mark and celebrate your age, all that you’ve done, all that you have yet to do. I hope it gives you occasion to reflect on the difference that one year can bring to a life, that you find a newfound respect for the precious gift and burden of the passage of time. I pray that your recollections bring a smile to your lips, and that if tears come to your eyes, the sweetness of joy triumphs over the ache of sorrow. _

_ I love you dearly, and as your grandfather I will be marking every single one of your name days from here on out with much pride, and with an experience that we both might share, despite our separation.  _

_ This year at the same festival as we purchased your bow, there were lovely apple pies with streusel topping. Seeing as you are fond of apples, I resolved to learn how to bake these lovely confections in your honor...and I daresay they turned out a sight better than the first birthday cake I ever made you! Hopefully the pies have survived both the trip across the rift and their subsequent delivery. If you find them to your liking pray let me know in our next exchange, and I’ll be sure to send one along from time to time!  _

_ As an aside, you’d expressed concerns about my health in your last entry...I’m pleased to report that the fatigue has at last dissipated, though I fear I may yet eat the Scions out of house and home! Pray don’t worry on my account, I am well enough to get up to mischief within reason and even acquired a crossbow recently, which I am enjoying immensely. I miss you very much, but I won’t fret. I’ve never told you directly, but many were the times that your strength lifted me up over the years, and I know that fortitude will serve you well in the times ahead.  _

_ I look forward to hearing from you in our next exchange, and pray this finds you doing well. _

_ Ever your loving grandfather, _

_ G’raha Tia _

Lyna sighed, brushed away bittersweet tears as she closed the journal. For a moment she looked to the carefully wrapped pies, imagining him off in foreign lands, in the Scions’ kitchen, thinking of her as he prepared his efforts for travel. 

When she tried one it was heavenly, the crust flaky and crisp, the apples more tart than those of the First, bursting with flavors enhanced by a sweet crumble of butter, cinnamon, nutmeg, and brown sugar. His cooking certainly had come a long way from the burnt offerings he’d produced as often as not when she was a girl. She smiled to herself to remember the forlorn way his ears would droop when his gesture was ruined, the way he would sheepishly perk up when she ate it anyway and insisted it was decent. 

He was looking forward to hearing from her, was he? She sat back in the wrought iron garden chair, looked out over the little pond where they used to feed the fish together when she was small. 

It was a sentiment he always expressed in their exchanges, and she had always happily obliged him, relating news of the uptick in trade, the steady decrease in the Sin Eater population, new agreements between the Crystarium and Eulmore, and whatever other progress she thought might gladden his heart. She frowned, cracked open the journal, and flipped back through the pages of their correspondence. He seemed pleased with her responses, but as she skimmed she began to notice a discrepancy in the nature of their entries. While she spoke of the goings on in Norvrandt, he spoke of his most recent adventures, a new food he’d chanced to try, his outings with Evi’a, his bemusement as he grew used to his new body, his excitement and trepidation in his role as a Scion.

In short, he was opening up to her more than he ever had in their time together, and she was providing a vaguely military progress report. She pursed her lips, closed the journal once more. Where were her stories, her new experiences? Where was her life in this renewed world that they’d all suffered for and worked so hard to bring about? She hadn’t taken leave even once, not in all the years she’d been a member of the guard. To fight for the Crystarium, for the man who raised her, that had been her life, the driving force of her existence. 

_ Perhaps it’s time for a change _ , she thought to herself, picking up her new bow from where it leaned against her chair, running her fingers against the fine grain of the wood as she rested it in her lap. As hells bent as her grandfather had been to teach her of her heritage, she had never once stepped foot into Rak’Tika proper, nor held much interest in doing so. But now...now the borders were opening, and she found her heart yearning to lay eyes on Fanow, to view the sacred remains of Ronka in all their glory, to sit among the cerulean flowers she’d only seen in dreams, to make her first true offering to the spirits of her ancestors. 

This time, when she responded, she would tell him about her personal hopes and fears for the future, and perhaps the time after that, she would have some adventures of her own to speak of. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think that Lyna and her grandfather keep up a steady correspondence courtesy of Evi'a, and that there's a real possibility that they will become closer apart than they ever managed together.


	9. Clamor--(WoL/G'raha, M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which G'raha Tia comes to realize that the Diadem is very much not an ideal location for a romantic day out.

When G’raha Tia had eagerly accepted Evi’a’s invitation to ring in the launch of the next stage of the Ishgard Restoration with a day of gathering in the Sea of Clouds, he had not been expecting...this.

He could quickly see that he was going to have to reframe what he hoped to accomplish for the day, because it certainly wasn’t going to be finding a private little sky island upon which to hide and run his hands down his love’s handsome back in that glorious mining shirt, much less what he’d hoped for beyond that. 

_Perhaps another time_ , he thought to himself ruefully as they approached the Diadem in Evi’a’s newly customized two-seater Falcon, eyeing the veritable swarm of gatherers heading in the same direction on a true menagerie of varied mounts. 

His more selfish desires aside, the former leader in him found his heart touched by the concerted effort. He was under no illusions that people were here solely out of charity or desire to help Ishgard—there was apparently a ranking competition that would positively affect the winners’ future business prospects, and plenty of gil to be made either way. Still, the bright and raucous atmosphere was endearing, shouts and laughter ringing out in the frigid air as they made their approach. Evi’a had often spoken fondly of his experiences with the restoration project, and G’raha was eager to share in the task by his side, even if he had only been an amateur miner at best back in his tribal days at Ilsabard. 

“Are you certain you don’t want to compete for the rankings?” he asked as their ship touched down. “People do seem to be quite excited about it.”

“Gods no,” Evi’a replied emphatically, killing the engine. “I’m a hobbyist at best...I’m just happy to show my face and help with the effort, maybe pick up something nice with the scrips at the end of the day. And also, I value my sanity.” He raised his eyebrows and thought to question, but the Keeper had already hopped out of the pilot’s seat to register them for the day. He smiled as he watched everyone else racing to do the same.

Well, at least they would get to spend the day together doing something Evi’a enjoyed, and it was for a good cause. 

A half bell later found them landed on their first island and sizing up their first mining node, a host of other gatherers already ahead of them. The air was alive with the ring of pickaxes and sledgehammers at work, and while the particularly shrill reverberations made his ears twitch, he told himself he would get used to it. 

Also, he was greatly looking forward to putting their borrowed aetherial cannon to ample use. 

“Just stick to the rock salt for now, maybe switch to the spring water on and off so you can keep up your pace,” Evi’a was saying, pointing to their map. “I’ll try the artisanal alumen for a while...if it gets too busy here, we can—“

“SOME HELPFUL HINTS FOR NEWCOMERS!” boomed through the air, and G’raha nearly jumped out of his skin, tail fluffed to twice its size.

“Wicked white!” he gasped, covering his ears. “What in hells was—“

“PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR SPIRIT BONDS! MIND THE CONDITION OF YOUR TOOLS, AND BE SURE TO STAY HYDRATED!”

Evi’a winced apologetically as the announcement finished.

“Oh, I’m sorry Raha, I completely forgot to tell you about the Shouts. It’s an aetherial communication network they’ve set up for gatherers out here to convey messages quickly.” Privately he wondered to himself how Evi’a could let such a detail slip his mind, but perhaps like the rest of the noise, one got used to it.

“I suppose it’s charming in its own way,” he allowed with a pained smile. “Seeing as I’m a relative novice, perhaps I should listen—I fear my skills are quite rusty, and there is much I could stand to learn from those more experienced than I.” Evi’a cocked his head to the side with a dubious expression.

“I, er...don’t know about that. I’ve brought some earplugs for us, actually...would you like yours?” Evi’a must have noted his crestfallen expression before he could hide it...it seemed they wouldn’t be speaking to one another much either. “We’ll be able to hear each other well enough! It’s just to muffle the Shouts and the background noise, and to protect from the wind.” 

G’raha cast an eye about their fellow gatherers. They didn’t seem to be wearing plugs, he noted, pursing his lips, and he wouldn’t either.

“I think not,” he said crisply. “This is my first time here, and for today at least I should like to appreciate the atmosphere before I elect to dampen the ambience.” The Keeper opened his mouth, reconsidered, and shook his head with a smile. “Suit yourself,” he said, handing over the plugs. “I’ll give them to you in case you change your mind.”

Two bells later, the Seeker was intensely regretting his life choices. The first ten minutes or so of the shouts were full of helpful (if earsplitting) advice and tips such as where aetherial nodes might appear in special weather, or which indiginous creatures to avoid. In the time remaining, the air was a cacophony of bawdy jokes, arguments, where to go for a good time, the most likely nooks for a little fun, get rich quick schemes, and so on.

He could not believe he’d imagined he was going to have adventurous outdoor sex with Evi’a in the midst of all this. 

To make matters worse, when he’d finally swallowed his pride and took out his earplugs, he was distracted by a sudden umbral flare in the weather and set them down to admire the sky. When he remembered them again at the tail end of a mighty boom of cannonfire, they’d apparently blown away on one of the tempestuous gusts common to the sky isles. He couldn’t bear to tell Evi’a... the Keeper appeared so enthralled with his work, and despite everything it made him smile to see it.

Within another half bell his fingers were inching toward his crossbow as he eyed a rather ponderous golem wandering close by, the stench of sulphur emanating from the creature one strain too much on the fraying skeins of his legendary patience. If he could just engineer a distraction…

But his love had developed an appallingly sharp instinct for when crossbow-related mischief was imminent, and turned from his quarrying with a squint.

“Don’t you dare,” he chided. “Almost no one is armed, and these things pack a...are you alright? You’re quite pale.”

No, he was not alright. His ears ached from the effort of keeping them pinned, and when he chanced to relax the noise and the chill bite of the wind had him clamping his hands over them protectively when the bard wasn’t looking. He wasn’t sure if he were starving or about to be ill. 

“I’ll be fine,” he managed with a weak smile...and then his reassurance was ruined by a crack of splitting rock so sharp it brought tears to his eyes, his hands instinctively surging halfway to his ears before he could stop himself. 

“Raha,” the Keeper asked with stunned disbelief. “You never put in your earplugs?”

“I lost them,” he admitted in a small voice, tail drooping with mortification as Evi’a took a breath and closed his eyes. 

“You should have said something, they sell more back at the base! Oh, don’t make that face, I’m not angry,” the Keeper murmured, stepping forward to pull him close. He made a low noise in his throat at the warm, welcome comfort, and actually groaned when a hand came up to rub at the muscles knotted at the base of his neck. “Raha, you’ve got to tell me if things are awry...we’re going to be adventuring together a lot from now on, and...and you’re going to have to promise me that you won’t keep your hurts from me like this.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Evi’a,” he whispered, hot tears of shame and frustration stinging at his eyes. He knew better, but.. “You looked so happy, and I’ve dealt with worse...I thought I could just endure for a while, but perhaps this is beyond me for now.”

“This is not beyond you,” Evi’a corrected him gently. “I don’t know that you’d enjoy this in the same way I do, but with proper safety precautions you’d have easily made it through the day. And beyond that, I don’t want or need you to endure, not like this. Next time, speak up, okay?”

He nodded wordlessly into his love’s shoulder, too tired and stretched thin to reply. He winced as the crackle preceding a Shout sizzled through the air, then took a shuddering breath as Evi’a quickly reached up with both hands and pressed his ears flat. Sweet Azeyma, he didn’t think he’d ever appreciated the heat of Evi’a’s palms firm against his ears more, warmth spreading like a fine wine through his body as a rather gauche question involving roegadyn and lalafells was mercifully muted. 

“I’d give you my earplugs, but I imagine it would hurt to put them in by now,” the bard said with a grimace after the air cleared. “Come on, let’s get you home.” 

“But what about the minerals?” he implored, hating how thin his voice came out, that he’d made a burden of himself on a day that Evi’a had greatly anticipated for some time. “Shouldn’t we go and have them appraised?” 

“It doesn’t have to be today,” his love said dismissively, and G’raha swallowed guiltily against the ache in his throat. He knew Evi’a meant to sell the excess, that the potential to make gil in the first few days was good...that his love had his heart set on a larger house for them. He sighed as his love looked to him pensively and moved forward to hug him again. The Seeker burrowed closer to that warmth he didn’t deserve...then closed his eyes, disappointed with his own melancholy, with himself in general. He wanted nothing more than to go back to their home, take a hot bath, and curl up in bed, but didn’t like to imagine how much further his mood would drop if he did so.

“I’ll tell you what, why don’t we compromise?” Evi’a murmured, no doubt sensing his dismal thoughts.

  
  


He felt slightly better by the time they reached the stairways leading down into the Brume. His ears ached something fierce and his hearing was sharply curbed, but the relative quiet was a blessing that left him bonelessly weary and tired. Still, he was determined to at least set foot with Evi’a into Foundation and wait while his local retainer went and had the minerals appraised in their stead. Evi’a said the noise in the Firmament was like to rival that of the Diadem, for all the crafters at their trade in such close quarters...perhaps better to visit the actual site of the Restoration another time. 

“You sure you don’t want to go back and sit in the Falcon? Or maybe we could go wait in the Forgotten Knight?” Evi’a asked, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. 

“No, I like it here,” he whispered, resting his head gingerly against his love. “It’s quiet, and the snow reminds me of home. And by the way…” he added, eyeing the bulky cotton sack at the Keeper’s side, “What’s in the bag? Did you keep some of the minerals?” 

“Ah, no,” Evi’a said sheepishly, ducking his head. “This is just some basswood and a few simple toys.” 

“Toys?” he asked, just as a small elezen girl dressed in thin furs timidly peered up at them, half hiding behind the stairs. Evi’a gave him an apologetic smile, then raised his hand in greeting to the child. Cautiously, she emerged, holding the hand of a toddler dressed in overlarge layers of mismatched clothes. 

“Is it you? The Warrior of Light, sir?” she asked timidly, and his heart nearly melted at his love’s warm smile.

“I’m Evi’a, Lanielle, I’ve told you,” he said, silver ears flicking with welcome. G’raha hugged his love’s arm close at the way the both of the children’s demeanors changed entirely, their faces alight with joy as they scampered up the stairs. 

“Did you bring anything? Did you?” she asked, bouncing eagerly on her toes and plucking at the Keeper’s bag. 

“Hold on a moment,” Evi’a said amiably, rummaging in his pack to produce a pair of wooden tops, carved around the rims in a simple floral pattern. G’raha’s ears pinned at the girl’s squeal of delight, but he couldn’t fault her, his heart full as she reverently took her gift, turned back toward the alleyway, and waved it above her head in a clear signal. Before he knew it there were a half dozen more children clambering up the stairs and wheedling the Keeper for his work, and as it turned out, he was well prepared. The Seeker’s heart fluttered as he watched his love pass out the toys, as the children spoke excitedly of their upcoming moves to the Firmament and prodded him to show them again how he carved the tops. 

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” Evi’a asked worriedly, balancing a growing stack of basswood in his arms as the children dug through his bag and dropped more blocks of wood in his lap. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said quietly, and this time, he meant it. “We have to wait anyway. May I...would you mind if I leaned against your back for a while?”

“Not at all. It shouldn’t be long, I promise,” the Keeper reassured with a gently concerned bunt to his forehead. And so G’raha shifted around and carefully leaned back into the warmth of his love with a sigh. He was weary, aching, and possibly ill, but the clamor of happy children had always soothed his soul. His lips twitched into a half smile to think that the day wasn’t ruined after all--he just needed to learn from his mistakes and move on. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evi'a loves Diadem gathering and finds it soothing...which it probably is, without all the noise! I can imagine G'raha would be quite stubborn about doing things 'the right way' his first time coming along. Also, this will probably be continued at some point if I can find a likely prompt...the setup for a sick fic and/or an ear care fic is just too tempting to pass up XD
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	10. Lush--(WoL/G'raha, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow-up to the Diadem fic. As the Exarch, G'raha Tia always had issues with being ill and letting others look after him. But this is a new life, and with some help and introspection, perhaps he can begin to overcome these insecurities. 

G’raha Tia despised being ill. Obviously that would be true of most people, but in his case his condition was often the result of some personal failing—this time being no exception. 

In his capacity as the Exarch he’d loathed the first niggling signs of a cold or an ear infection, because if it didn’t go away, Lyna was going to fret. And if Lyna began to fret, he would have to give in and haul himself down to Spagyrics, where he would be roundly scolded for his disinclination to take care of himself and plied with acrid, questionably textured tonics that were almost worse than the illness itself. 

To add insult to injury word of his condition would spread like wildfire through the Crystarium, upon which his own citizens would also chastise and advise him via letters that Lyna would unceremoniously dump on his nightstand, and also they would send him more food than he could ever hope to eat. Then, when he finally did get better, he’d spend the next week or so of meetings being doted on like an old man, the anticipation of which sometimes made it difficult to leave his bed.

He knew that Lyna and his people fussed over him because they cared, but he never felt more unfit as a leader or as a key factor in the plan to save two stars as when he was ill, which in turn led his mind down dark paths that he was usually able to avoid otherwise.

But he was no longer the Exarch, and in this new life, he couldn’t place how he felt about being sick, how he hoped for Evi’a to react. Certainly he’d put a dampener on the Keeper’s day with his poor choices, and he felt guilty about it no matter what his love said.  _ Learn from your mistakes and move on _ , he kept telling himself, but he wasn’t sure it was making him feel any better. 

And so he was nervous, aside from the sum of his woes. By the time they reached home and made it inside, the stabbing ache of his ears had done him the service of a sore throat and a terrific headache, the knotted muscles in his shoulders refusing to let up no matter how he twisted and stretched. To make matters worse, the symptoms felt sharper than ever, courtesy of having a body unburdened by crystal. He couldn’t complain much about the latter, he supposed, but heightened sensitivity to pain was hardly pleasant. 

He hovered in the kitchen as Evi’a tidied their packs, inexplicably uneasy in a place he’d happily accepted as a home for the past three moons. Thankfully they’d already eaten from canisters of a thick popoto soup helpfully supplied by Evi’a’s retainer upon her return, so at least that awkwardness was done. 

“Do you want to go up and lie down?” Evi’a asked. “I can start working on dinner while you have a nap.”

“No,” he said petulantly, before he could think to say otherwise. “I can help with…” He halted mid sentence at a subtle shift in the Keeper’s expression, rubbed at his arms, stopped himself in frustration. This sort of stubborn persistence was why he was sick in the first place, why they’d had to come home. When he dared to look to his love’s face once more, he could almost see the wheels of consideration turning in Evi’a’s mind, drawing on his echo and carefully weighing his choices. He wanted to apologize for being difficult, but couldn’t find the words, and anyway Evi’a would insist that he wasn’t difficult...and G’raha was too weary to hold that predictable conversation.

“Alright, what do you want to do?” the Keeper finally asked, and he found himself blinking back tears at being asked.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, although that was only partially true. Evi’a nodded as though his answer was expected.

“Can I hold you for a bit, or do you need some space?” he asked, and the Seeker’s feet selfishly carried him forward of their own volition until he let his forehead thump against Evi’a’s chest. He sighed as he was pulled into a warm embrace, one hand coming up to work at his tense shoulders. 

How humbling it was to be loved, despite all of his shortcomings. 

They stood like that quietly for a while, the silence as a fluffy blanket to his pained ears, the warmed wood smell of his love bringing him back to himself a bit. He would be fine, they would be fine, he was capable of doing better. This was an issue that he could fix, and Evi’a was less the type to scold and more the sort who would gently hold him accountable and nudge him in the right direction, which was far preferable to simple loving patience.

He started as a purr rumbled against his cheek, looked up to the Keeper in surprise.

“You’re purring?” he asked blankly, and the bard smiled, bent to bunt at his forehead.

“Mm. It’s good to be here with you. I love you,” he murmured, and G’raha’s heart gave a helpless little flip.

“I’m sorry about today,” he answered, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I love you too.”

“I know, on both accounts.” He couldn’t bear the tenderness in those navy eyes any longer, looked away bashfully with a mix of feelings he was too exhausted to bother with picking apart. There were a plethora of sounds that miqo’te had learned to mimic over generations of tribal life, but a purr was impossible to fake. 

Evi’a  _ was _ happy with him, content, even. 

G’raha didn’t think he’d ever wanted to improve his character so much for the sake of another. 

“Can we take a bath together?” he asked hoarsely. He knew the Keeper wanted to look after him...maybe he could give this much a try, see how he felt about it. 

A half bell later when he was up to his shoulders in hot water with his love steadily massaging tense muscles loose, he wondered why he’d ever fought this. He was like to melt under the ministrations of those powerful archer’s fingers, and judging from the rumbly purr behind him, the Keeper was enjoying being allowed this intimacy very much. When he began to nod off, Evi’a gently encouraged him to sit at the edge of the bath, then toweled him dry, careful around his ears. He rested his head against his knees and enjoyed the slightly cooler air against his heated skin as the Keeper moved to gently squeeze and pat at his tail with another towel until it was rendered just this side of comfortably damp. 

When they finished, Evi’a left him be for a moment to go and find his own pajamas, for which he was oddly grateful. As he pulled the lightweight cotton shirt over his head, the Keeper returned to the room with a pitcher of water and a small brown glass phial, which even in his warm stupor G’raha could not help but eye suspiciously. 

“Don’t worry, it’s just ear drops,” Evi’a said with a smile, no doubt remembering his own less than enthusiastic rounds with Spagyrics tinctures. “I bought them earlier this year after we returned from The Tempest--the pressure down there really did my ears in.” 

The Seeker sipped at the offered water, then sat down on the bed, still more anxious than he felt he ought to be...and no doubt showing it in the worried flick of his tail. On the few occasions over the years that he’d needed ear drops Lyna had helped him, and he’d hated it with a passion. It wasn’t that she was unkind or rough...more that it wasn’t something he’d ever wanted his child to have to do for him, that if he needed her to take care of him, how could he hope to take care of everything else he was meant to do? The sentiment was foolish, perhaps, but this in particular had always made him feel small. 

“Do you want to try by yourself? It’s more effective if you’re lying down, but if it makes you uncomfortable…” Evi’a trailed off, trying and failing to hide his disappointment and concern. 

“No...no, it’s fine,” the Seeker said slowly. He had to get over this. No, that wasn’t right--he wanted to get over it, and all the other little anxieties and doubts he’d inflicted upon himself over his long years. Besides, his acquiescence made the Keeper’s eyes brighten, and that alone was worth it. “Where do you want me?” he asked, perhaps a little too quickly, as Evi’a took a seat beside him. 

“Lie down on your side, and put your head in my lap,” the bard directed softly, and he did as he was bade before he could change his mind. “Easy, try to relax,” he murmured, and G’raha shifted as a night sky hand came to rest over where his own fingers were instinctively clenched into the mattress.It was more effort than he cared to admit to loosen his grip, but he took a breath and managed. The Keeper gave his hands a squeeze, then moved a hand up to rub at his back. “Your shoulders are tense,” he noted gently 

“I’m trying!” he answered, immediately cringing at the snap in his tone.

“I know,” Evi’a whispered. “It’s okay, I’ll wait.” And then the Keeper made good on his word, slowly running a comforting hand up and down his back. For a brief moment G’raha felt at the end of his rope and just wanted his love to get on with it, but the comforting motions at his back soon eased his upset. Little by little he found himself relaxing, enjoying the firmness of Evi’a’s thigh against his cheek, the subtle thrum of his heartbeat. 

A soft smile pulled at his lips as his heart reached a welcome epiphany. This was not his child, or a physician frowning upon his poor behavior, or a citizen whom he’d failed. This miqo’te was his mate, his equal, and to care for one another in sickness was the natural way of things. 

“Ready?” the Keeper asked at length, and he gave a bare nod, tensing only slightly when his ear was cupped and gently prised up. He braced himself for the drops, then blinked as something that felt like damp, heated cotton was pressed into his ear instead. It hurt, but only briefly, and was absent of the unpleasant shock he generally associated with the application of ear medicine. He groaned with relief as the pain began to fade. 

“This is how they do it in Ishgard,” Evi’a explained quietly as he carefully, rhythmically squeezed his ear to help the medicine spread. “I got ear infections there sometimes from flying through the wind and the cold. They tend to make it in larger batches and soak the cotton in, so the medicine doesn’t freeze as quickly as it would in a smaller bottle.” 

Once the tincture was spread to Evi’a’s satisfaction, the Seeker rolled over and easily accepted the same treatment to his other ear. 

Sweet Azeyma, what a blessed relief it was to have that pain diminished. 

He might have protested previously at taking a nap in the mid afternoon with the sun streaming through the windows, but at this point he didn’t care. Where he might have felt guilty about the Keeper curling up against his back to join him, now he smiled. 

Evi’a wanted to be there, wanted him always. 

  
  


He woke sometime later to the brush of a kiss against his cheek.

“I’m going out to get some food, be back in a bit. Love you.” He drowsily answered in kind, watched with a full heart as the Keeper left. That he wasn’t going to be hovered over, that he was trusted to his own devices...both were an immense and welcome relief. He pushed himself up to sit, noting the late afternoon sun on the horizon, closed his eyes. 

He’d never been alone in the house, and suddenly, that made it feel all the more like home. He had a drink of the lemon water Evi’a had left at his bedside, then slid out of bed, took his mussed hair down and pulled it up into a lazy ponytail as he padded downstairs. As he moved into the kitchen he took a moment to lean against the counter and enjoy the ambient sounds of their home, muffled though they were by the cotton in his ears. Their burnished copper watering can was yet left on the sink, and he filled it quietly, taking his time to move about the house tending the plants. Sometimes he stopped to run his hands over the frame of a painting, to pick up Evi’a’s woodworking tools and enjoy the feeling of the worn handles against his palms. Once he was finished he wandered to the bookshelf, ran his fingers over the spines of the tomes the Keeper had collected on his travels. He would have to add to the collection as well, perhaps even build another bookcase together with Evi’a, maybe attempt an Allag version of the carved floral borders the Keeper so loved. 

After choosing a collection of legends relating to the dragons of Coerthas, he poured himself some tea, and on a whim sliced and added one of the La Noscean oranges they kept stocked in their cooling pit. Then he made his way outside to sit at their wrought iron garden set to read and let the smooth citrus tea soothe his sore throat. As the sun began to sink on the horizon, he found himself unable to focus on the words before him, and looked about the garden in content contemplation as the light shone through the leaves of their myriad plants. 

After a fashion, the experience of being ill gave him a whole new appreciation for the lush, rich quality of his new lease on life. To experience sensations so fully, to love and be loved, to be allowed to fail and learn from his mistakes in a forgiving environment, to be able to sit in comfort in a garden built by the love of his life and to realize that it was equally his own...what an incredible gift it was to be alive. 

When Evi’a returned just as the stars began to twinkle in the lavender twilight, they went back inside and set the table together in comfortable silence. The dried clam chowder the Keeper found at the markets proved delicious with the easy addition of hot water, and the cool rolanberry and mint soup courtesy of the Carline Canopy was a velvety, luxurious finishing touch to which he could easily become attached if allowed. Sleepy, full, and content, he snuggled up next to Evi’a on the plush red sofa while they both read, and didn’t realize he’d nodded off until he was woken with a gentle bunt to the top of his head. 

This time when Evi’a brought out the medicine he readily put his head in the Keeper’s lap, let himself enjoy the heat soaking into his ears, and felt comfortable enough to ask for another backrub--which the Keeper happily obliged. 

“Thank you for this,” Evi’a murmured against his hair as they curled up together in bed, the aetherial lighting dimming into comforting darkness. G’raha smiled, snuggled back into his love’s warmth, flicked his tail to drape over the Keeper’s thighs. 

How sweet it was to finally realize not just in theory but in truth that sharing his vulnerabilities was also a precious form of giving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the Exarch, G'raha Tia sets himself aside so much and is so independent, I can't imagine he's ever been a good patient...and the game also insinuates as much. I've always wanted to write a sickfic but never had an excuse, so here we are!
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	11. Avail--(WoL & WoL family time, M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rare appearance of RP!Evi'a. AU setting in which Evi'a is only a minor WoL and had to make his way through life alone after leaving his abusive tribe...he's a very different man without his Scion support network. He and his little brother Yhen'a (Sorin's WoL, used with permission) go out fishing for a day, and have a conversation Evi'a probably should have initiated much earlier. Also includes mentions of A'caji (red_scorch's WoL, also used with permission). 
> 
> Rated M for themes, particularly a depressed main character, and also vague references to past abuse.

Evi’a squinted against the light as he looked up to the Shroud canopy, what he could see of the sky a bright blue with the occasional cloud scudding by. Autumn was upon them and the temperature had finally let up, the first hints of a cool breeze rustling through the orange and vermillion leaves.

A perfect day for fishing, especially in good company.

“Sorry I’m late!” a familiar voice called down the path, and he waved in greeting to his relatively newfound little brother. 

“That’s okay, what kept you?” he asked as they fell in step together to head for their favorite fishing hole along the Hathoeva River. 

“No excuses here, I slept in...forgot to tell Caji I was going out, and he cooked such a nice breakfast I couldn’t just eat and run,” he grinned, and Evi’a nodded his understanding. If he had someone warmhearted and kind like that, he’d be late going out as well, and from the few times he’d visited their home he knew A’caji to be a fine cook. 

His heart twinged a bit but he smothered that immediately, raised his eyebrows and looked down as he realized that his brother was eye to eye with him.

“Are you wearing high heels to go fishing?” he asked with a grin, and Yhen’a shrugged with a roguish grin of his own. 

“Oh, I’ve worn high heels for much more arduous and trying tasks than fishing! Trust me, I’ll be fine.” Well, that wasn’t exactly what he meant, but shook his head with a chuff and let it go. “It’s been a couple weeks since our schedules have matched up...have you been keeping busy?” Yhen’a asked amiably as they made their way down the trail. 

“Of a sort…” Evi’a answered, shifting uncomfortably. “I’ve dropped down to a couple of Mih Khetto performances a week just for now, and I’ve got a big woodworking commission for a cabinet set, but otherwise...just sort of getting ready to go home in a fortnight or so,” he ended quietly, not daring to look to his brother.

“...Oh,” Yhen’a said, and Evi’a quickly forged on before they could have that conversation, whatever it might turn out to be.

“How about you, have you been busy?” he asked as the other Keeper opened his mouth to speak. Yhen’a blinked, but accepted the diversion. 

“What, me? Not especially, though there’s been some loose ends to tie up here and there, and the Free Company job last week…”

_ That you didn’t join.  _ Yhen’a was kind enough not to say it, but Evi’a knew what he meant. Just, it had been such an effort to get out of bed that day, and he hadn’t liked what he’d seen in the mirror, and the thought of socializing made him feel vaguely ill. 

“Anyway, Caji and I are mostly determined to make the best of our vacation for now...it’s been a long time since we’ve had the chance to rest like this.”

“Don’t blame you at all for that,” he answered, his heart twinging again. He didn’t know what Yhen’a and A’caji had gotten up to in their roles as Warriors of Light, but it seemed like it had been a calling far beyond the pale of the usual primal slaying. Yhen’a had never volunteered the information and Evi’a was afraid to ask, in part because it felt presumptuous, and in part because he wasn’t sure that his brother would tell him...and to know that he was unworthy of the story would break his heart. 

But he was not out today to be melancholy, he was out to enjoy the weather and the company, he reminded himself firmly—and the sight of the water tumbling by did cheer his heart. 

“We should play the Mih Khetto together sometime!” Yhen’a enthused a touch awkwardly as they took their seats on the smooth rocks along the banks of the river. The water was clear and of a middling depth, which boded well for their prospects. 

“We should!” he replied, ears perking a fraction. He’d thought of it before but wondered if it were too early to ask. To know that Yhen’a had at least considered it as well lifted his spirits a little. “I admit I’m not particularly experienced at organizing arrangements for two, but I’m sure we can come up with something.”

“I’m not just saying that, Evi’a. It really would be nice to play together.”

Ah, so Yhen’a had picked up on the underlying malaise in his mood, then. But he knew his little brother to be good on his word, no matter his own personal struggles at the moment.

“I know,” he answered softly, and he meant it. “Oh! I just remembered, I brought you something,” he said absently, rummaging around in his tackle as Yhen’a began to thread his line. “Ah, here they are!” he crowed, triumphantly producing a handful of beautifully painted fishing lures in brown, viridian, and sparking bronze. “There was a stand selling these on the first day of the Autumn Fest, and I thought of you when I saw them. Bought us the last ones,” he said, holding out the gifts. His ears flicked with confusion when Yhen’a gave a chuff of laughter...and pulled an exact matching set out of his bag.

“These are for you,” he said sheepishly, and they both laughed, and traded their sets to complete the gesture. “Well, no harm in having extras! Thank you, Evi’a.”

“Thank you too. At least if we do a show together, we have similar tastes.”

And Menphina, wasn’t that the truth. It was hard to believe with as much as they shared in common, they had not run into one another sooner. Yhen’a had grown up in the Shroud, and while Evi’a had only been there for three years, give or take, Gridania wasn’t exactly huge. If nothing else, they were both bards, and that he’d somehow just so happened to miss all of Yhen’a’s performances was terrible luck. To be fair he’d only halfway been searching for his long lost little brother, but both of them had such distinctive looks, he was certain he’d have at least had his suspicions if he saw Yhen’a’s likeness on a performance posting. But somehow, they’d never crossed paths, until the fateful day a few moons ago when they’d literally run into one another at the markets. 

He’d known instantly who Yhen’a was, courtesy of his Echo, and if he’d had any doubts, they would have been dissipated by how very alike they were. Both bards with similar musical tastes and proficiencies, both blessed with the Echo, both Warriors of Light (albeit in different capacities), with a shared chronic gift giving habit, along with a love of plants and fishing...and fashion, as it turned out. He still remembered how embarrassed he was when he’d shown up to the Free Company in the early days of his membership and found Yhen’a wearing nearly the exact same mining attire dyed in the same colors. And when the company had its first beach outing, they’d have shown up in the same swimwear if Yhen’a hadn’t thought to call him first and ask what he’d chosen. 

So alike, in so many ways...and yet for all they were similar, Evi’a knew he did not have nearly as much of value to contribute to their burgeoning friendship. 

In his thoughtless joy upon their first meeting, he’d invited Yhen’a to come back home with him to visit the tribe of their birth, which his little brother, having been abandoned in the Shroud as a newborn, had never seen. Yhen’a had readily followed up with an invitation to visit his own adoptive family, and at the time Evi’a happily accepted. 

Now, with a few moons to imagine in detail how both of those visits might go, he wished he’d have considered more carefully. What did he have to offer Yhen’a, taking him back to the tribe that had treated Evi’a as little more than a breeder? His little brother wasn’t going to receive a warm welcome from the elders, that was certain, and their mother was a whole other collection of difficulties on her own. Well, she loved Yhen’a, probably--apparently she’d been speaking to him for quite some time via dreams and visions.

Evi’a had lived with her, and she’d only spoken to him--and briefly at that--five times in his whole life. 

He looked to Yhen’a, the spitting image of their mother, as he smiled and hummed a tune to himself. He couldn’t imagine their mother smiling, and seeing Yhen’a--who looked so alike to her--with his own happiness, pride, and undertones of the same formidability...sometimes Evi’a’s heart just didn’t know what to do. 

“What’s troubling you, big brother?” Yhen’a asked, and Evi’a started out of his reverie. 

“What? Nothing, I’m fine,” he said easily, because he had to be.

“Your bait’s been gone for about five minutes.”

“What?!” he exclaimed, pulling up his line to be confronted with a nothing but a shiny silver hook. “Seven hells, you could have said something sooner.”

“Not with that look on your face,” Yhen’a countered, the tip of his tail flicking against the rock. “You...uh, you wanna talk?” 

Evi’a sighed, set his rod down at his side with resignation. It was time to own up--it was the least he could do, and his brother deserved his honesty. 

“I don’t think I can go meet your family, Yhen’a,” he said in a low voice, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees.

“Oh...why not?” Yhen’a asked, confusion and disappointment evident in his tone. “I already told mother you’d be coming, and she’s so looking forward to meeting you. If this is about Tahbe’a, don’t worry, we can keep him in check.”

“No, this is not about your terrible cousin,” he said, chuckling despite himself. “I’ve dealt with my share of toxic relatives before, believe me. This is more…” He swallowed, let out a sigh. Might as well get on with it. “I’m jealous.”

“Jealous?” Yhen’a repeated carefully, and Evi’a pursed his lips. 

“We’re so alike, you and I, but I...I didn’t turn out as well as you did, and I can’t shake the feeling that I should have, that I had the potential to be something better. And I wanted what you have, that family. I wanted our mother to love me as well. And it’s all so petty, such a shaming failure of character, when you’ve been nothing but kind to me. I can’t avail myself of your family’s hospitality, not like this. I need to sort myself out.” He took a shaky breath, relieved to have it out, after moons of thinking it after his performances, before he went to sleep at night, in idle moments when his mind wandered. 

Yhen’a stared at him with an unreadable expression, then looked out to his cork, bobbing along in the current. There was a long silence, for which Evi’a didn’t blame him. He thought he might be more upset with himself, but there was only a distant numbness as he too aimlessly watched his little brother’s line. 

“The nice thing about potential,” Yhen’a mused at length, giving his cork a pop, “is that it never runs dry.” He turned, fixed Evi’a with a serious expression, his eyes the same silver as their mother’s. “And jealousy can be constructive, if it helps you realize what you need. For what it’s worth, your feelings are extremely understandable. You didn’t deserve the way they treated you, and what child doesn’t want their parents’ love? Your character isn’t failing, you’re hurting--there’s a difference,” he said firmly. 

Evi’a hunched in on himself as color rose to his cheeks, and he turned his face away, blinking back tears. 

“If your mum’s kind to me I’ll probably embarrass myself and weep like a kit at some point,” he muttered, ears flat and tail lashing behind him. 

“Then weep, if it helps,” Yhen’a said next to him. “I’ve cried on my mother any number of times in my life, there’s no shame in it. She’ll look after you, Evi’a, if she thinks you need it...which she probably will, to be honest.” 

Evi’a sighed again, comfort furtively stealing over his heart despite himself. The thought of making such a spectacle of his feelings in front of strangers was not attractive, but maybe his brother had something of a point. For too long he’d tried to solve all of his problems by himself, to be self sufficient such that others would never fail him again--and if he were alone, there was no risk of him failing others, either. But there was only so much that a man could do for himself, only so much that introspection was useful without an outside perspective now and then--that was the natural way of life. Every flower--from the tenacious dandelion to the delicate orchid-- needed watering from an outside source, or they would surely wilt and die. 

“I just wish I had better to offer you than a trek through the mountains to deal with what is likely to be a trying experience,” he said sadly, determined to keep up his effort to talk about what he felt. “Honestly, you don’t have to accompany me if you don’t want to. In retrospect, I asked too suddenly, at a time when it would have been difficult to say no.” 

“Evi’a,” Yhen’a said sharply. Instinctively he turned to look, and found his brother squinting at him, brows drawn. “Would you consider yourself representative of your tribe’s ways?” 

“What? Gods no,” he said emphatically, puzzlement at the question displacing his sorrowful thoughts.

“Are you meaning to look down on me once we get there? Are you going to treat me like an outsider?” 

“Of course not!” he answered, tail bristling. “Why would I do something like that?” Yhen’a shook his head.

“You’re not them, Evi’a. Their behavior is not your fault, nor your responsibility. Our mother’s actions toward the both of us, that’s not on you. And however they receive me, I will be going by my own decision, the consequences of which have nothing to do with you. Do you understand?” 

“Y-yes. Yeah, okay, I get it,” he acquiesced hastily, and blinked when Yhen’a’s severe expression shifted into a gentle smile. 

“Good. And before you go saying ‘But still…’, I am under the impression that you have seven lovely daughters to introduce me to, do you not?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. They’ll be quite excited to meet you, regardless of whatever else goes on,” he admitted, something like hope unfurling in his heart. 

“I’m excited to meet them too,” Yhen’a said warmly, eyes wandering back out to his cork. “In case you haven't figured it out yet, I absolutely mean to accompany you. You can’t imagine how thrilled I am to find I have nieces. I’m looking forward to bringing them some gifts, if you think it won’t cause them undue trouble.”

Evi’a gave his first truly heartfelt smile of the day, ears daring to perk as he looked to his brother’s serene face. 

“It’ll be fine, I can’t see any of their mothers taking any real issue.” After a moment of consideration, he picked up his pole and bashfully cast his line alongside his brother’s. “Thanks, Yhen’a. For listening...and for everything.”

“That’s what family’s for,” the other Keeper replied, a smile quirking at his lips. “You’ve given me more than you realize as well, you know. We’ll have to work on that...conveying important things more clearly to one another, I mean. And Evi’a?”

“Hmm?” he answered, giving his cork a pop to go along with the return of a measure of buoyancy to his soul. 

“I signed the company up for another job, three days from now...if you’re not too busy, think you might join us this time?” 

He smiled to himself, his brother’s ability to bring others together once more subtly at work, the implication clear. 

_ Join us, you’re wanted, you’re capable. _

“Yes...I think I’d like that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RP!Evi'a is a whole different ballgame. At 30 his career as a minor WoL is basically limited to lesser jobs, thanks to an injury inflicted by Leviathan. He lived in La Noscea for all of his life until three years prior when he moved to Gridania on the advice of his only friend to officially pursue carpentry and gain credibility as a bard. He's very kind but also tends to isolate himself, and has depressive spells. Of late though his life is changing for the better after finally meeting his little brother Yhen'a. Thanks again to Sorin for giving me permission to write their incredible character, and for allowing Evi'a to have a place in Yhen'a's life. Thanks as well to red_scorch for letting me mention their absolutely lovely WoL--Yhen'a's husband, A'caji <3
> 
> You can hmu @syrcusgardens on twitter if you like!


	12. Ultracrepidarian--(WoL/G'raha, M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evi'a elects to try his hand once more at white magic for a job...and it does not go well. Luckily G'raha is there for him, in more ways than one.
> 
> ultracrepidarian (adjective)--noting or pertaining to a person who criticizes, judges, or gives advice outside the area of his or her expertise.

“I don’t suppose anyone else here knows how to heal?” the roegadyn paladin asked wearily, and G’raha scowled at him for good measure, heart aching as he watched Evi’a’s shoulders slump in his peripheral vision. 

“I uh, I’m decent as a red mage,” the Keeper offered awkwardly, and their dragoon sighed. 

“Decent as you are at white mage, or decent as in actually decent?” 

“It won’t be enough anyway, we’ll just have to go one as we are,” the paladin muttered. 

G’raha’s tail bristled, ears pinned as their two erstwhile party members turned and continued down the path through the Sunken Temple of Qarn. If they knew who his love was, they wouldn’t dare to insult him so...but Evi’a had specifically wished to remain anonymous for this mission, so his hands were tied.

“Why didn’t you say something? You can take over if you like,” the Keeper murmured glumly as they came to walk side by side. 

“Because you can do this! Don’t let them discourage you, my love...everyone has to learn.”

“I really did think I remembered this place, Raha. I’m sorry I’ve led us astray so many times,” Evi’a said in a low voice, turning his staff over in his hands. 

“It’s okay, we’ll get out, you’ll see. Come on, chin up, we’re surely halfway through by now,” he encouraged. Evi’a offered him a weak half smile, then continued on walking in silence. How G’raha wanted to reach out and hold his hand, or at least give him a squeeze of support, but he knew now was not the time. 

He’d never seen Evi’a quite like this, growing progressively more nervous and distraught from his mistakes, too upset to think rationally before he made his next decision. With the long years apart G’raha had completely forgotten that his love had an abysmal sense of direction in enclosed spaces. Take the sun and the stars away from him, and he was like to get lost in a straight hallway. Come to think, the Keeper had taken an inordinate amount of time to learn the ups and downs of the Crystarium, and more than once he was late to their meetings for losing his way. Aside from that, it occurred to him that Evi’a was not used to failure. Perhaps if the quest were more difficult the Keeper would have been more inclined to forgive himself his missteps, but this was middling work at best.

The incessant complaining of their party mates was not helping. Once they sorted out that Evi’a in fact did not know the Temple as well as he thought, and that he was an inexperienced healer to boot, the whole expedition had gone south as they wandered from room to room trying to determine where they were supposed to go and which creatures had devoured the keys they needed to move on. Normally G’raha would have relished such an adventure, and the opportunity for a history lesson besides, but the tension was so thick and his love so despondent that he was ready to be washed of the entire endeavor. 

  
  


Evi’a gasped, heart in his throat as he narrowly dodged the Vicegerent’s sword, rolled and agilely leapt to his feet, his tail fluffed as he battled against the instinct for fight or flight. _What’s wrong with you, you fool? You’ve fought so much worse than this,_ he thought desperately to himself _._ Frantically he tried to locate the paladin again, swallowed against the dryness in his throat as he began casting his Cure spell once more...and lost his concentration as a line of undead shrieked and began to rampage full pelt across the room. It was all he could do to dodge and get to his feet. Gods, he didn’t know how the others fared--Raha seemed well enough, but he couldn’t see the dragoon, had she jumped? 

“You aimin’ to get to it boy, or am I going to have to waste my Hallowed Ground?” the roe called across the chamber, and Evi’a’s heart sank to see the man bloodied and flagging as another wave of undead manifested from the far walls. 

“Give me a moment, I’ve got it!” he called back, holding his ground as he began to cast. He ought to have just enough time to get the spell off and dodge at the last moment…

Ï’m out of range, you bloody fool!” the paladin shouted, and Evi’a’s stomach gave a sick twist of mortification, but he dared not stop casting as the roe moved closer...and brought the Vicegerent with him. Sand stung at his eyes as the undead approached, but he dared not move, he couldn’t fail the cast this time.

“Evi’a!” his Raha cried frantically, and the Keeper looked up just in time to see a thick, golden blade heading his direction. 

  
  


G’raha Tia’s breath left his body in a rush as he watched his love drop like a sack of rocks under the blow...and he snarled as the Vicegerent lifted its sword once more. 

He’d never moved so quickly in his life as he did then, leaping into a dive to roll the Keeper out of the way a bare second before the massive blade came crashing down an ilm from their heads. He heard the dragoon swear somewhere in the fog, but all he could think of was to drag Evi’a away to the edges of the chambers. Shuddering with the sudden shift in his aetherial concentration, he whirled his staff and flung a careless Benediction at their faltering paladin, then dropped to his love’s side.

“Seven bloody hells, where was that when we needed it five bells ago?” the roe cried. G’raha grit his teeth and ignored the man, tail lashing as he saw to his love’s injuries. Just stunned, thank Azeyma, though his healed broken ribs would no doubt smart fiercely for a few days. It wouldn’t do to raise him, not in this, not with how the day had gone. 

“I’m sorry, beloved, I’ll come back for you soon,” he murmured, then wheeled onto his feet and headed back into the fray. 

  
  


It took a mighty effort not to groan when another lance of pain emanated from his ribs--no point embarrassing himself more than he’d already done today, so he just sat on his rock and hid his face in his hands. 

“Well, all’s well that ends well, eh? At least we got it done,” the roe was saying. “You’ll want to keep your mate there close, mage. Clever on his feet, heals like a charm and fights like a demon, likes of you could certainly stand to learn from him.” He could feel Raha bristling next to him, the Seeker’s aether charged and menacing. Evi’a pursed his lips, reached out to rest a calming hand on his love’s knee. “Easy there, friend, just a little humor to lighten the atmosphere,” the paladin replied warily. “I’ll be takin’ my leave, best to the lot of ye.” Evi’a swallowed again, the pounding of his head protesting the clank of the dragoon’s armor as she approached. 

“Sorry he was such a shite. I should’ve said more, maybe. I was wondering, do you, uh, have Regen?”

“What?” Evi’a asked, finally raising his head to look at her blearily, ears twitching at the beginnings of a warning growl sounding at this side. 

“Regen,” she repeated, sparing an anxious glance at the Seeker. “I don’t mean to criticize, it’s just, with the spells you have, you ought to have Regen? I think you’d find it really helpful. Er, my cousin’s learning white magic as well, and he doesn’t have what you’ve got, but he has Regen. I think Raya-o-Senna taught him? If you spoke to her she might teach you as well.”

Evi’a nodded, doing his best not to let his dismay show. He’d been practicing his white magic on and off, but it had been literal years since he’d spoken to Raya. 

Sweet Menphina, to think he’d woken up this morning believing he’d had this one in the bag.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you for your advice,” he answered, with as much gratefulness as he could muster. The dragoon inclined her head, said her goodbyes. As soon as she was out of sight he buried his face in his hands again, grateful to be alone in the quiet with Raha at his side, and not particularly eager to move.

“How are you feeling?” his love asked at length.

“Mortified, frankly. I can’t remember the last time I turned out such a terrible performance at...well, anything, really. Forgive me, and my thanks for your help.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for. If I’d have had to spend one more moment in that reprehensible man’s company, however, I daresay he’d have ended up with a crossbow bolt in his arse,” the Seeker grumbled, and Evi’a chuffed despite himself, looked up to smile fondly at his love’s glowering face. 

“Sometimes you just get teammates like that. Although, to be fair, I haven’t had to deal with that sort of treatment for a long time.”

“I’m going to report them both to the Flames with great enthusiasm at my first available opportunity,” his Raha said crisply, tail lashing. “There’s no call for that sort of behavior, and everyone has to learn at some point.” Evi’a’s heart gave a little flutter, grateful for the support. With an effort, he forced himself to sit up, ribs protesting as he straightened. “Be careful, dear one, don’t push it too much. Give the aether time to spread so I can see to you again,” the Seeker entreated, and Evi’a nodded. 

“I know today was a fluke, and that I can do better, but honestly...I just don’t think I’m cut out for healing, Raha,” he murmured, turning the staff over in his hands, ears pensively swept back. “If I’ve got my bow or my rapier I can see what I need to do, but this,” he said, hefting the staff, “I just...I don’t think it’s for me.”

“Well, best to think on it a little...as you’ve noted, it wasn’t the best of days, and you might feel better about it in the morning. Everyone fails sometimes, Evi’a, even you.” Evi’a looked to his love’s serious crimson eyes for a moment, grateful for the candid response rather than simple platitudes. 

“I know. But I don’t think this is just about failure, it’s about responsibility. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, that I…” He shook his head and considered for a moment before continuing. “If I’m honest with you, where I am now as the Warrior of Light...that’s about my limit for accepting responsibility for the safety of others. As it is it feels like these days my presence is required on nearly every front, and should I turn away any of those fields of battle, the consequences will be dire. So much rides on my presence in all of these arenas...and it’s so overwhelming. The pressure of being directly responsible for all of my teammates’ safety while trying to fight myself, knowing full well the cost on a larger scale should I fail...it’s too much for me, Raha,” he admitted quietly, glad to have it out. 

The Seeker looked to him for a long moment, then out to the horizon, where stars were beginning to twinkle in the late twilight sky. 

“Certainly your burdens are great, my love...if abandoning this path for a time brings you peace and your heart is satisfied, you will find no protest from me. As ever I will be at your side, and I will be only too pleased to serve as our healer, that you might focus on the task at hand to your satisfaction.” He then turned, fixed Evi’a with a gentle smile. “That said, I will never, ever stop believing in you, and should you take up the staff once more, I will happily stand by your side through any trial.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking to the stars himself, kneading his fingertips into his thighs to distract from the pain. 

“Raha?” he asked, after a long turn of companionable silence, “I’ve wondered for a while...you mentioned, back in my early days on the First, that you chose me because I was the best hero among all the shards. I know that can’t be, though. I’m only proficient at a few professions, while there are so many others who are all-rounders like yourself. I mean, I know those living in the wake of the 8th Umbral Calamity wanted me, but honestly...don’t you ever think, even a little bit, that there were others out there who could have done a far better job than I?”

“No,” the Seeker said instantly, and with unwavering firmness. “I staked the fate of two stars on you because I believed in you, unfalteringly, unflinchingly. You know that I have a somewhat lamentable disposition which, left unchecked, leans toward sacrifice. If I thought someone else were better, I’d have chosen them, for all that despair would have strangled my soul. Luckily, that was not to be my fate.”

Evi’a took a breath through parted lips, humbled by the profound conviction in his love’s crimson eyes. 

“I...I see. Thank you. I’ll never ask you that again,” he said quietly, gingerly offering the Seeker a bunt to the top of his head as he moved over to close the space between them. 

“Mm,” his Raha answered, gently bunting back. They couldn’t really snuggle at the moment, but it was good to lace their fingers together, to feel the solid warmth of his love’s palm against his own, the brush of a tail against his backside. He took a pained breath, spared a glance for the gleaming staff he’d stood to rest at his side. 

Perhaps someday, when the world did not so often come knocking at his door, he would try again after all. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm interpreting this one a little loosely, in that Evi'a generally mislead his party, but also that they treated him badly. 
> 
> If you like you can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens!


	13. Tooth and Nail--(WoL/G'raha, E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Followup to previous prompt, though this can stand alone. Evi'a is not in the best of conditions, but seeing as how he's stuck at home anyway, G'raha decides the day would be well spent in bed. Edging, top Raha, and sex whilst injured.

Evi’a was not particularly thrilled to spend the day following his unfortunate foray into white magic holed up at home, but cracked ribs were not conducive to much of any task, it seemed. He’d tried to make breakfast, but found himself wincing when he reached up for the pan, and Raha had taken over. Later he made an attempt at watering the plants, but the air left him in a rush as soon as he bent over.

“Why don’t you come up to bed? We can read together,” his Raha finally entreated, no doubt anxious to get him to stop fidgeting about the house before he hurt himself. Evi’a wasn’t particularly a fan of being in bed at midday, but the sooner he got better, the sooner he could do what he wished. 

“This,” he said to his love a bit later, tilting his head back to grant access, “is not reading. Not even resting, one might argue.” 

“I don’t see you complaining,” the Seeker replied cheekily, pulling up to examine the trail of marks he was leaving on dark skin. “You know, if you lie there long enough, I might be able to make a nice Allag pattern.”

“I’m sure you could,” he chuffed, mussing Raha’s ears affectionately as the mage gently flopped down and bunted up under his chin. He sucked in a shallow breath as pale fingers danced down his stomach to linger and skate over his member, already straining against white lace.

“Someone’s interested,” the Seeker murmured, rolling over on his stomach and fixing him with a smug expression as he resumed his fondling, tail flicking with mischief behind him.

“I don’t know what’s become of you, Raha, accosting an injured man in his bed,” he sighed dramatically, gingerly jerking his hips into a particularly sweet brush over the tip of his length.

The Seeker gave a snort and shook his head. 

“You’ll live, I’ve seen you much worse than this,” he replied dismissively, though Evi’a did not miss the raw emotion that briefly passed over his love’s crimson eyes before it was buried. He reached down to cup at a freckled cheek, and Raha closed his eyes, leaned into the touch.

Yesterday had been a close call, and they both knew it. Life could be so fragile so suddenly, a fact with which both of them were intimately familiar. His love had seen him fall, and that was never easy. 

“What do you want?” he asked, brushing a thumb over his Raha’s warm lips, taking a breath as the Seeker nipped at him.

“You,” he murmured, eyes opening just slightly, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. 

Evi’a swallowed.

“All yours,” he said quietly. He wasn’t in the best of conditions, but he’d fought tooth and nail through worse. He could certainly lie back and take whatever his mate had in mind. 

  
  


_ All mine _ , his heart sang, and he wasted no time in scooting down to nuzzle against what he wanted, ears flicking happily toward the strained sound his love made. The thin white fabric already had a spot of dampness, sure evidence of the Keeper’s arousal as his hands. He darted out his tongue to lap at it, reveling in the taste and smell he associated so fully with love, home and freedom. The bard made an aborted attempt to thrust, breath coming out in a hiss, and the Seeker shuddered as powerful hands came down to smooth at his ears.

“Stop that,” he said breathlessly. “I’m trying to take my time. Also, you should probably be still.” Evi’a groaned as he removed his hands and clenched them into the sheets at his side instead, too sore to grip at the pillow as was his usual habit. 

“Raha, honestly,” he whined as the Seeker returned to his lapping, and G’raha couldn’t help but massage his thumbs into the flexing of those dark thighs, both to distract and to tease more.

“Oh, what else do you have to do?” he asked, once he’d licked a very satisfying wet spot into those pristine underwear, pleased with how his love’s member was already twitching, the alluring rise and fall of his chest as he tried not to breathe too deeply. “Your schedule is not exactly full today.”

“I don’t know what you’re hoping for, but if you keep doing that, I’m not going to last very long,” the Keeper managed, looking down at him through his eyelashes. His mouth went dry at the sight of that expression directed at him, and suddenly he fancied he wanted those underwear off about as much as Evi’a did—no matter how stunning the Keeper looked in them. 

“I’m sure I could take you through your paces a couple of times, at least,” he countered, even as he began to work the lace down his love’s thighs, and Evi’a let his head drop back with a moan. 

“You’re...you’re not wrong,” the Keeper faltered as he was divested of his smallclothes, as G’raha began to kiss a definitive path back up the inside of his right leg. “Sh-should I be trying to hold back, or…?” 

He took a little time to mouth just to the sides of where his love wanted him, delighting in the little sounds of desperation that escaped his inspiration’s lips as elegant fingers kneaded at the mattress. 

Gods, how good it was to have this beautiful miqo’te at his mercy, to have him safe and close and alive to enjoy himself like this.

“You do what you like, and I’ll think about it,” he said, smiling impishly up at Evi’a’s hazy expression. The Keeper grumbled something about roundabout answers that was quickly silenced as G’raha dipped to take the head into his mouth, taking his leisure to bob slowly and fully appreciate the saltiness against his tongue, the familiar weighted heat in his mouth, the muscles of Evi’a’s stomach trembling under his fingers as the Keeper struggled both not to thrust and not to strain against thrusting. 

Evi’a’s hips gave a helpless bounce anyway as he pulled away, and G’raha winced at a hiss of pain. 

“Come now, you’re supposed to be keeping still,” he chided, and the Keeper gave a breathless laugh.

“You say that as though it’s easy!” he protested, tail thumping against the mattress. “Next time you can be the one to lie back and not move while I do whatever I like, see how you fare!”

“That is a challenge I will readily accept, on hold for a later date,” he purred, eyebrows raised. “For now, mind yourself. But...if it is too much, just say the word and I’ll get on with it.”

Evi’a squinted at him, then smiled and let his head fall back once more. 

“I might have known it would be something like this when I gave you leave to do as you wished.” 

G’raha smiled back, though his love couldn’t see it, and happily returned to his task—namely, taking the Keeper apart little by little until he begged. 

“Gods, Raha, I...ah!” the Keeper cried as he pulled off for the third time, leaving his love twitching and trembling, breath coming in shallow, short bursts. He couldn’t help grinding into the bed himself with a growl, his own tenuous grasp on control beginning to slip at the sight of Evi’a flushed and panting beneath him, trying to restrain his unruly body. He sat up, pulled the band from his hair and undid his braid, loving the open admiration in Evi’a’s eyes as he shook out his hair into waves that fell past his shoulders. Typically this was the point where the Keeper might try to roll him over and a brief tussle would ensue to see who would end up on top...but this time, his love was not capable. 

“What would you like?” he asked, because it felt like the right thing to do. Evi’a hadn’t used their safeword, but he was clearly reaching the end of his tolerance, and it wouldn’t do for him to hurt himself.

The Keeper’s mouth worked for a moment before he could answer. “I told you, do what  _ you _ like,” his love insisted stubbornly, and G’raha gave a chuff of laughter. 

“I don’t think that’s advisable in your current predicament,” he said with a rueful smile, and Evi’a made a sound of impatience. 

“I’m sure you’re more than capable of being careful. I trust you, Raha...and also, I want you,” he tacked on at the end, canting his hips with visible effort so that there was no question as to what he meant. 

If he thought that was going to help his chances, he was absolutely right. 

“Don’t let me hurt you,” he warned, rising up on his hands and knees to reach into the drawer of their bedside cabinet. He nearly dropped the phial as a deft hand wrapped around his member and began to stroke, twisting just so and thumbing at the tip.

“Good to see I’m not the only one enjoying myself,” Evi’a murmured smugly as he gasped and jerked into the touch. 

But no, not this time. With a truly commendable effort, he pulled away, ears twitching. 

“Of course I’m enjoying myself,” he huffed, tail lashing as he unstopped the phial to coat his fingers. “You have no idea how gloriously fetching you are in your pleasure.”

  
  


Evi’a darted his tongue out to wet his lips as his love moved back down the bed, heart fluttering with anticipation. He always forgot how good it was to be on the bottom, how sweet it was to yield, until he found himself there. There was a particular expression of concentration that his love reserved solely for this act, and Evi’a loved that set of his lips, the angle of his brows and the cant of his ears, the dilation of his narrowed eyes as he diligently spread the lubricant over his fingers, mulled the angle of his approach. 

Personally, he preferred to be on his stomach for this, or to have his knees under him, but an experimental shift to the side stole his breath away, and not in a nice way.

“I’m afraid you won’t be managing that,” Raha tsked, reaching down to carefully help him lift one leg as far as he could bear toward his stomach. The effort made him tense against a stab of pain, but the slick hand on his member soon distracted him. “Shame you’re stuck like this,” the Seeker murmured, one arm hooked behind his knee while the other worked with artful experience. “You’re going to have to look at me this time.” 

Oh Menphina, if watching the ripple of the Seeker’s muscles at play as he worked didn’t end him, the bitter caramel of that tone would, and from the way Raha pulled off with a flourish, he knew it.

His eyelids fluttered and his ears twitched as a finger worked its way south, traced and rubbed at his entrance...and lingered there. 

“Seven hells, Raha,” he swore, raising his arms to grasp at his pillow before remembering that it was a bad idea. 

“Oh my, language. And be still, or I’m going to stop.” Evi’a didn’t believe him for even a moment, but made an effort to stop squirming--and cried out as that finger pushed in and  _ rubbed _ just where he needed it.

“Mm, Raha, I…” he gasped, breath shearing as his hips jerked. 

The Seeker paused. “Evi’a, you’ve got to be still, you’re going to undo all of the healing I’ve done today,” he scolded primly, and the Keeper gave a huff of frustration. 

He refrained from cursing this time though, obediently schooled himself to relax, to measure his breathing. His injuries were already beginning to ache from the odd angle of his leg, but he didn’t care. If this was the game Raha was setting before him, he was going to do his damned best to meet the rules head on. 

“That’s better,” the Seeker murmured, and promptly set to thrusting hard and firm right where he needed it. 

“Oh gods…!” Evi’a gasped, clenching his hands into the sheets, turning his head to bite his pillow for good measure. 

“That good?” his love asked quietly, and Evi’a spared him a dazed glare for good measure, too busy reminding himself not to move to dignify that question with a reply. He shifted as his love slowed, and then a second finger joined the first in a very concentrated massage. Raha gave a velvety chuckle at the thump of his silvery tail against the mattress. 

“Ah! Raha I...mn, I...will you just...mm!” It ought to have been embarrassing, the nonsense spilling from his lips, but he had power of his own even flat on his back, and from the way the Seeker’s eyes darkened, he knew he’d managed to shake his love’s patience. 

“If I do this, are you going to finish?” the Seeker purred, retaliating with a few very well placed thrusts that had Evi’a immediately questioning his calculated predilection to be so vocal. 

“Y-yes…!” he gasped in reply, pain searing through his lungs, his breath coming up short.  _ Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move _ , he reminded himself desperately. 

“Well, don’t,” Raha commanded, and Evi’a gave a helpless chirr at that honey-rich tone. But he’d followed that voice literally across the rift, and he wasn’t going to stop obeying it now. 

Thankfully, his love relented, but the loss of those fingers as they pulled out was very nearly the tipping point, and it didn’t help the way the Seeker was looking down at him with open predatory need as he panted and struggled not to finish, not to cant his hips up for more. 

“You’re so beautiful,” his love half murmured, half growled, regarding him through eyes narrowed with lust. “A-are you well?” Evi’a clung to the catch in those words, the realization that he wasn’t the only one nearly undone, his heart surging to be reminded that even lost to the depths of lust Raha’s love always shone through with consideration and care for his younger lover’s comfort. 

“I’m good, Raha, please!” he encouraged shamelessly, his entire world narrowed down to this gorgeous miqo’te--the great love of his life--above him, and the need that was threatening to consume him whole. He’d been brought to the edge so many times; if he didn’t finish soon he was literally going to sob, and then Raha would stop, and he wasn’t sure what he would do then. 

“I...let me know if anything hurts, I…” the mage faltered, even as he began to carefully maneuver himself closer.

“G’raha Tia, if you don’t mount me soon, I am going to  _ perish _ .”

“Azeyma preserve,” the Seeker breathed, and Evi’a had just a moment to appreciate the sight of that beautiful length before it carefully pressed into him at the perfect angle, and then he had to fight between the urge to throw his head back and the need to just watch his Raha’s face as he shuddered and nearly lost himself in pleasure. But then he took a shaky breath and mastered himself, opened his eyes with such a fiery gaze that Evi’a’s ears pinned flat. 

“Look at me,” his Raha ordered breathlessly, and Evi’a nodded immediately. 

When his love began to move, Evi’a snapped his hips up to meet him, the burning in his ribs somehow tying in to the lust searing through the rest of him. His Raha gave a wavering groan, too far gone to chide him--they were well past their game anyway, lost in one another, in sensation, in passion. It hurt, but it was  _ good _ , it was  _ living _ , and this miqo’te riding him to sweet perfection was love, safety, home, his future, his family all rolled into one, and he’d surge up to meet that any day, regardless of the pain. He couldn’t reach his Raha to kiss him, but he could work at those soft, trembling red ears for all his passion would allow him--and within moments, the Seeker’s pace began to stutter. Before the thought to take himself in hand could fully form in his hazed mind, the Seeker was stroking him slick and firm. His breath went shallow, then left him altogether, and it was all he could do to hold on long enough to watch his Raha’s face as the Seeker surged forward and then arched his back with a pitched keen. 

And then Evi’a joined the song with a choked cry, pain and pleasure reforging his existence into a brilliant refulgence as liquid warmth spilled inside him.

When he blearily came to, sticky and sated, he found his love’s head pillowed on his shoulder, the Seeker snoring quietly, soft and peaceful at rest, sunlight catching in his hair. He lifted his head as much as he dared, looked down at the absolute mess they’d both made, and let his head fall back to his pillow with a smile. He ached all over. His lungs were oddly tight, it seemed he hadn’t allowed Raha to prepare him enough, and he was pretty sure he’d pulled a muscle in his abs somewhere back there. 

All worth it, a thousand times worth it, and he’d do it again offered half the chance, to bring home to his love that they were yet miraculously alive and granted a life together. He turned, dared to press a kiss against mussed red hair, chuffed as an ear flicked against his nose. 

“I’m here, Raha,” he murmured, watching as the Seeker’s chest steadily rose and fell. “We’re both here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, I never even thought about injury sex until it popped up on my tl about a month ago. Considering the end of my previous story, I decided to give it a go--hopefully it came out alright! Also I need more top G'raha. I love top G'raha but somehow he rarely ends up there in my own fics. I must work to rectify this imbalance XD
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	14. Somnambulate--(WoL/Exarch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Exarch refuses to sleep, and Evi'a can't help but feel that this time, something is wrong. 

“I said I’m not tired!” the Seeker snapped, ears pinned, and Evi’a took a step back in surprise. His love had never spoken to him so sharply. “Oh, Evi’a, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” his Raha faltered, and for a brief moment he watched the Seeker’s face crumple before the smaller miqo’te buried his face in his hands. Evi’a’s heart ached as he approached and tentatively wrapped his arms around his love. A little moan of frustrated distress sounded against his chest, and he reached up to soothe back soft red ears. 

“That’s alright, I’ve got you,” he murmured, swallowing as his love’s breath hitched. “I’m sorry too, I pushed too hard. Let’s just stand here a bit…?” There was a bare nod, and so stand there they did, the warrior brushing back the caretaker’s ears until he’d calmed enough to speak. 

“Forgive me my outburst,” the Seeker finally said in a watery voice, stepping back to rub at his face. “I just...I don’t wish to...I can’t sleep right now, and before you say anything, yes, I know I look a fright,” he huffed, subconsciously reaching up to touch the bags under his eyes. He looked up to Evi’a, looked away, ears drooping. “Pray don’t go fretting to Spagyrics, I don’t think I could bear their censure at the moment,” he said in a low voice, rubbing at his arms. Evi’a frowned, reached out to cup his love’s cheek. 

Something was wrong. He knew Raha to be stubborn about his work, or to burn the candle at both ends with his driven sense of duty, but this was not quite hitting the same notes as those other times he’d needed coaxing or bribery to come to bed. It was almost as though he were afraid of something. 

“Will you sit with me?” he asked quietly, forgoing the presently contentious territory of the bedside and indicating their bay window sofa instead. The Seeker fidgeted and looked like he’d rather not, but nodded with an air of resignation. When they sat Evi’a made sure he scooted close enough for their shoulders to bump, a physical reminder that he was there. “Can you tell me about why you don’t want to sleep?” he asked. “Help me understand.”

His love gave him a stricken look, turned his head away, ears drooping. 

“This is not...I don’t want you to be alarmed,” he said softly. 

“I’m already a little alarmed, Raha,” he replied gently. “If something’s wrong, even if it’s something I can’t help with, I’d feel better knowing about it than not. And perhaps I can find some way to support you that’s welcome for both of us, instead of just snitching to Spagyrics.” 

The Seeker finally looked back to him with a rueful smile, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, looking ahead contemplatively. 

“You know how I feel about my duty, how honor bound I am to complete the research that will send the Scions home. But, as you have likely surmised, this...this is not that,” he admitted at length, swallowing before he could continue. “When I...when I left you, back all those years ago, I bound myself to the Tower that day...but the binding was not complete. I didn’t take the final steps until I had to, in order to make the journey to the First. There were consequences to that secondary decision that frankly, I still don’t understand.” He paused, rubbed at his eyes. “When I’d been here some seven years, I fell into a sleep, of a sudden, that lasted for three months. Everyone thought I’d died.”

Evi’a raised his eyebrows, but kept his silence, sensing there was more. 

“Thirteen years later, it happened again...only that time it was for a year, and Lyna was yet a child. A year of my life I lost, but that was nothing to compare to a year of hers, just as she was nearly a teen and readying herself to begin training for the Guard. Oh, she still practiced, and she cared for herself, but the shock of that ordeal took years to scar over.” The Seeker closed his eyes. “It happened again in the forty-fifth year, and then the sixtieth, and the seventy-eighth, and most recently the ninety-second. All varying amounts of time, and none as long as that terrible year, but…”

Evi’a scooted closer as his love covered his mouth with a shaking hand, blinked back tears. 

“I can feel it, when it’s coming, a certain nature of heavy fatigue, of...of incessant insomnia, no matter how tired I might be, and it gets worse and worse until…I don’t have time for that right now, not now, not when the Scions are on limited time, not when...not when I’ve waited all these damned years to stand by your side!” 

He took a breath at the uncharacteristic language, immediately opened his arms when the Seeker turned to look for comfort. 

“I can’t afford that now,” his love whimpered, nuzzling against his shoulder. “And I can’t bear it, to dream for what feels eons of walking the Tower halls desperately searching for a way out, only to realize I’m yet sleeping…!” 

Evi’a blinked back tears of his own, snuggled his trembling love close. He knew the Seeker had a host of buried, terrible memories, had felt and seen glimpses of them back when they were bonded...but Raha had never spoken of any of them with him until tonight. The thought of all the years his love had spent with no one to speak to of his fears nearly broke his heart. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, because that’s all he could do. He didn’t want to offer platitudes or promises that could not be kept, and he supposed it was likely that the Seeker was overreacting and growing more and more agitated _because_ he was so very exhausted. Saying that wouldn’t help though, and the caretaker apparently had spent enough years dreading the forced sleep that he knew what the early symptoms felt like. Although...come to think, maybe there _was_ something he could do. 

“Raha,” he said softly. “You know how we still have that little thread of our bond?” 

“...Yes...why?” his love asked, looking up at him with pained weariness. 

“What if I...I mean...what if I hold you like that, while we sleep? Granted, the bond was much stronger back then when we did that, but with that connection close and present...even if you did fall asleep, in theory, I could wake you up.” By then the Seeker had sat up to regard him, eyes wide and lips parted. He blinked and looked away, furrowed his brow in thought, looked back. 

“I...obviously I haven’t been able to research any such methods, but...I...perhaps...you would do that for me?”

“In a heartbeat,” he said immediately, sighing internally that his love was yet surprised by how much he was valued by others. “And...and yes, I do want some nature of a full bond back, someday. Not specifically that one, but, I do want you,” he faltered, and tears shone in the Seeker’s eyes. 

“I’d like that too,” he whispered. 

“Will you come to bed with me now, then? Shall we try?” The caretaker licked his lips and nodded, allowed himself to be led to their bed, to follow Evi’a under the sheets. “Come here, listen to my heartbeat, it’ll help,” the Keeper murmured, sinking into the meditative state he’d mastered while he’d yet served in his role to his tribe.

As it turned out, it was no effort whatsoever to retrace the overgrown paths of his spirit, to find the remains of the bridges that used to connect their souls. As expected, he soon encountered the wall between them, and reached out to press his spirit hand against that mighty, passionate existence. 

_Come on, Raha,_ he called. _I’m here, let me in._ He smiled as another hand tremulously met his, their palms pressing together as the barrier diminished. There he saw, for the first time in moons, the Raha of his youth, biting his lip with a nervous smile, bashfully looking over his shoulder as Evi’a phased through the thinning barrier between them. 

_“Er, the place is a mess, hope you don’t mind,”_ the spirit of his love said apologetically, even though the connection of their laced fingers told them both more than any words as their existences instinctively melded together within that simple touch. 

_“I don’t mind at all. Come on, let’s both get some sleep,”_ he replied, reached forward to brush the hair back from the spirit Seeker’s face.

Back at the Crystarium, the caretaker was already snoring away in his arms, a soft smile on his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave myself an hour to write this and here's what I ended up with, hope it's coherent. This is tying a little into stuff from my other fic "An Age of Gold Flowing", which I mean to get back to as soon as FFXIV Write is done. 
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	15. Part--(WoL/G'raha, Explicit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an exhilarating day of sparring with the dragons of Anyx Trine, G'raha Tia wants more, and means to have it. Feral sex with a whole lot of switching, catboys in the wild remembering what it is to be miqo'te. 

G’raha grit his teeth and clenched his staff as a shiver of adrenaline worked through him, the rushing water at the head of the Whilom River calling him to action, the familiarity of the thinned air at this altitude singing an alluring melody to his confidence. He gave a growl of frustration as he watched the dragon Ess Kass and his brood of wards wing away into the mid-afternoon sunlight, their training for the day finished. 

Sweet Azeyma, he’d sparred with dragons, actual dragons, alongside his love, and that they did not draw back out of concern for his safety had him wiping away the blood at the corner of his mouth with a fierce, exhilarated grin. 

They were done with him, but he was not  _ done _ , and there was only one other person present on which for him to take out his frustration. He sideeyed his love, who was shading his eyes as he looked to the horizon, and wearing a draped red top and fitted black pants that were absolutely a crime to go along with the shining rapier at his side. He always loved watched Evi’a practice red magic, and today had been no exception. 

“Well, that’s us done for the day, I suppose. Would you like to…” the Keeper’s smile faltered as he took in the Seeker’s expression, and he had about three seconds to jump back and only just avoid taking a jolt of Thunder at point blank range. 

“Seven hells!” he cursed, tail fluffed to twice its size and ears juddering through a frission of wild levin. G’raha gave a fey peal of laughter, tail lashing as he brought his staff forward. The bard’s eyes widened, and then he drew his rapier and degen with a sharp grin. “That’s how it is, eh? I won’t go easy on you, old man!” 

“You speak as though you think you’ll best me!” he shot back, putting particular verve into the volley of his Fire spell. The Keeper jumped aside again, nimble from years of practice as a bard and follow-up work as a red mage. It didn’t save him from a singed tail however, which pleased G’raha to no end. His gloating was cut somewhat short by an enthusiastically returned bolt of Verthunder, and this time it was Evi’a’s turn to laugh at the Seeker’s frizzled tail. 

“You’d best stay out of the water!” the Keeper crowed. “I hear it doesn’t mix well with levinfire!” 

“Back at you!” he laughed, returning with a jolt of his own.

They continued for some time, leaping from rock to rock, balancing on the crumbling remains of the Iron Feast, dancing ever just out of range of one another’s spells. When Evi’a finally surged forward with his rapier drawn, he found G’raha no stranger to close combat, more than able to fight off a quicksilver rapier with a whirling staff. 

And then he stumbled on an ill placed rock, and Evi’a caught a hand in the front of his shirt to save him falling, pulled him up into a rough kiss. Not to be outdone, G’raha nipped him hard enough to draw blood, then sprang back, nimbly darting his way to the arguably safer heights of the tower’s dilapidated stone walkway, chest heaving as he looked down on the coiled stance of his love. 

They’d never sparred like this, never dared, and that Evi’a was fighting with him out in this dragon blessed wilderness as an equal made his blood  _ sing _ , made him crave even greater heights, made him feel as a proper tribal miqo’te for the first time in centuries. 

Very pointedly, he held his staff out to the side and dropped it, remembering at the last moment to cast a little cushion of air to ease its impact on the rock--it wouldn’t do to damage such a handsome gift. He watched with an exultant expression as Evi’a straightened and eyed him warily. The water of the falls roared at his back, and another surge of adrenaline rushed through him at the sight of the whole world stretched out before him, the poetry of standing fearless atop the remains of a broken tower gripping his soul with such a heady appreciation for the moment that he briefly felt faint. 

But only briefly. 

He looked down to his mate, held his warrior’s gaze as he reached up to make a show of pulling out his braid’s tie and running his fingers through tumbling red locks, then finally shook his hair out with a flourish. He smirked as Evi’a’s blade lowered, took a moment to undo the clasp of his scarf, which he pointedly also held out to the side and dropped. 

By the time he got to unlacing his trousers the Keeper had sheathed his weapons, watching him with a rapt, hungry gaze that made him shiver. And then there was nothing to do but shimmy out of his shorts, already just a little wet with his excitement, and even from this height he could see the Keeper’s breath catching at the sight of his proud erection. He gave a feral grin, and on a whim, tossed his smallclothes over the side to the lower level. Evi’as gaze flicked aside to watch them fall, then back up to him, tail swishing behind him. 

“Well now, are you just going to watch all day?” he asked loftily, and the pitch of the Keeper’s growl broke through the roar of the falls and made his member twitch.

He forced himself to stand languidly and watch as his love leapt from level to level, the picture of miqo’te grace. At last the Keeper was before him, his expression fierce as he shamelessly let his eyes rove over the Seeker’s lithe, naked form. G’raha darted his eyes to his mate’s very obvious arousal, then back up to meet a fierce dark blue gaze with a challenge of his own. 

The Keeper surged forward with a growl and they crashed into one another, nipping and biting as they fought for dominance over the kiss. He faltered with a groan, then thrust shamelessly as a dark hand wrapped round him and began to stroke. Still, the equation was far too one-sided for his liking, and when his frantically searching hands could not find any likely clasps or ties, he ripped that draped excuse for a shirt off his lover’s chest and tossed it unceremoniously over the side. With that out of the way he darted in to bite and leave his mark on his mate’s neck, dared to run his tongue lower over a dark nipple and delight in the surprised growl his actions brought forth. 

Still, it wasn’t enough, and with a grunt of frustration at the loss, he pulled back from the Keeper’s hand, hooked a foot behind his ankles and brought him down, alive with his own ferocity. No more playing his part, no more stifling his desires, no more pretending that he wasn’t miqo’te, no more turning away from the siren song of lust that ever played in the stormy, wildflower strewn lowlands of his heart.

“Too many clothes,” he complained, undoing trouser laces with hands too shaky to be gentle, yanking the offending garment down along with smallclothes and the weapons belted at his love’s side. He made a noise of impatience as everything hung up on the Keeper’s high boots, which Evi’a was equally impatient enough to help him drag off. The sight of that tiny bead of liquid at the tip of his mate’s dark erection was too tempting to pass up, and he dove down to close his mouth over it, smooth his tongue over firm, heated skin in a way that he knew drove the bard wild. 

“Raha!” Evi’a cried breathlessly, and he wasn’t surprised when hands came down to rub and pull at his ears, just enough to this side of a rough that a pleased shiver worked through him, made him eagerly sink down for more. A needy sound tore from the Keeper’s throat, and G’raha’s tail lashed with pleasure as the muscles of his love’s thighs twitched and jerked against his fingertips. He gave a purr of triumph as his mate’s normally practiced restraint failed, and hips began to snap up to meet him as he licked and bobbed. 

Suddenly, strong hands grasped under his armpits and he was dragged up into the Keeper’s lap, the pronounced fangs of his love’s people nipping at his lips, an eager tongue lapping into his mouth to taste him, taste where he’d been. 

“Think you’ve won already, do you?” the Keeper purred, and before he could respond he was toppled over onto his back, gasping at the cold shock of the stone against his skin. Evi’a wasted no time dragging those lovely fangs down the muscular lines of his stomach, and he was already canting up in anticipation when an ardent mouth sank down on him, hot and sweet against his neglected arousal. He gave a wavering cry, momentarily stunned with pleasure, blinking against the brightness of the sky as his body struggled to categorize the sudden influx of sensation. In his passionate haze and desire to dominate he hadn’t considered how  _ good  _ it would be when his mate finally laid hands on him, and the Keeper was putting his practiced knowledge to work so well that it made him writhe against the stone. He tried to thrust, but Evi’a leaned his weight forward and pinned him with a smug glance flicked in the Seeker’s direction, then went back to leisurely licking and sucking at his own pace. He moaned helplessly as he struggled to regain control, then jerked as the Keeper withdrew and replaced his attentions with his hand. G’raha dared to look, and his stomach gave an odd lurch at the sight of the Keeper pulling wetted fingers slowly out of his mouth, eyeing him with unmistakable intent. Then the breath left him again as his mate circled a fingertip around his entrance and pressed in, angling into a spot so alive and tense with need that the Seeker’s legs jerked back, his mouth opening on a soundless cry. He bucked and gasped for air, heart pounding in his ears as his mate began a truly artful massage. Sweet Azeyma, it was so  _ good _ , had it always felt like that? 

When his mate’s mouth brushed forward over his balls and up his length to reclaim him, he very nearly finished--and that was not acceptable. With a growl he pushed the taller miqo’te away, hissing as that skilled finger dragged out of him, catching against dry skin. Evi’a began to say something, but G’raha sprang forward before he had time, and it was the Keeper’s turn to gasp as he was pinned back against cooled stone. 

“Trying to bring yourself along with me?” he accused, raising an eyebrow triumphantly as he stared down into his love’s stunned, dilated eyes. “I think not.” This time it was his turn to suggestively wet his fingers, to enjoy his love’s breathy cry as he angled them in just so and flicked his tongue across pert nipples. The Keeper whimpered, and the sound went straight to his groin. They were going to have to settle this soon, before one of them gave in and finished. So resolved, he wasted no time biting a trail down his love’s stomach, sinking his mouth back down on that velvety heat and swirling his tongue as his fingers diligently worked his gasping and trembling mate loose enough to accept him. He purred as elegant fingers reached down to fondle at his ears--then yelped as they were yanked just hard enough to give him pause. 

He should have realized what was coming, he’d just done it himself, but it was still a jolt to find himself on his back once more. He twisted with a cry of pleasure as his leg was pushed up and two dark fingers sank into him--and then began to strike mercilessly at that tense and  _ ready  _ heat coiled within him. He panted and sang, momentarily bested, one hand tangling in his mate’s hair while the other scrabbled at the rock for purchase. When his love’s mouth claimed him again, his eyelids and his heart fluttered, breath going shallow, and if he didn’t do something he was about to capitulate. 

With a mighty effort he pulled himself free, used the Keeper’s surprise to flip them again. This time he didn’t bother with even a modicum of teasing before taking his love into his mouth to provide some modicum of lubricant, the bard’s cry nearly ending him. Hastily he pulled off, scrambled to position himself before the Keeper could react, and sank down on that beautiful member with a burn of satisfaction so pure it brought tears to his eyes. 

And then he rode his mate, took him in the wild like a tribal miqo’te of eld, slammed down just where he needed it onto hips that surged up to meet him again and again, the two of them too impassioned to sing, their affections punctuated with nips and bites, lashing tails and pinned ears, scoring nails and feral kisses. Never was he so grateful for this spry body as he was now, and in the one moment he paused for breath, his love  _ worked  _ against that hot, needy spot within him so perfectly that his entire existence narrowed to nothing but pleasure. Just briefly, he allowed himself to drop down to rest on his love’s chest and indulge in a few helplessly pleased chirrs before pulling up to set the pace once more. 

When his love’s hips stuttered and faltered he redoubled his efforts, threw back his head against delirium as he was taken in hand, as his love struck him just so...and then he was gasping and spilling over dark fingers, across the powerful chest and stomach of his mate as he was filled in turn, their completion searing a mark onto his soul that he would never forget, that he would rediscover in times of reflection and be fondly reminded of one of the most intimate, powerful couplings of his life. 

When he came back to his senses, he found himself on his side, pressed up against the welcoming warmth of his mate--and the less appealing chill of the unforgiving stone beneath him. He frowned and shifted a bit before chancing to look up at his love, who was regarding him with a complex array of emotions, the most prominent being tenderness and barely contained amusement. The Seeker found a smile spreading on his lips as well, and when a snicker escaped him Evi’a followed in suit, and soon they were holding one another and laughing at what they’d gotten up to, the sight they must present, the wonder of being alive. 

“We...we didn’t use any oils…” he chuffed, experimentally pulling one knee up with a wince that made him laugh even more. 

“You started it, you were the one who started throwing his clothes everywhere,” the Keeper pointed out with a grin, and just as he began to answer something fell with a pronounced  _ chink _ just behind his head. 

“What the..?” he murmured, awkwardly rolling over and frowning as he picked up the ruby and turquoise necklace Evi’a had crafted for him. He started as his belt fell just ilms before his face, and they looked up at the same time to find a gaggle of dragonets frolicking through the air, gleefully sporting with their clothes. “Oh dear,” he whispered as Evi’a’s eyes widened.

“Seven bloody...Kal Myhk!” Evi’a called, a hint of desperation in his voice. Luckily, the little storm blue dragonet wheeled down at once...but the rest of them tore off through the air toward Anyx Trine with shrieks of glee. 

“Greetings, Evi’a! We returned thinking to play with you, but you seemed quite busy, so we borrowed your coverings instead. Only for a bit! We’ll give them back!” He had just enough time to see Evi’a drop his face into his palms before he laid back and covered his own face, skin heated for an entirely different reason. 

“We...we need our clothes, Kal Myhk. To go home,” his love awkwardly explained, and the dragonet gave a little chirr of confusion. 

“Just for a little while should be okay, right? No? You lot are so fragile,” he exclaimed with a rueful sigh. “Well, I’ll go back and tell them, but they probably won’t listen to me...like as not you’ll have to portune Ess Kass to set them right.” 

“Fantastic!” Evi’a exclaimed with false brightness, and G’raha peeked just enough through his fingers to see the dragonet give a happy little whirl, believing his answer to be satisfactory.

“Excellent! See you later at Anyx Trine, then!” he chirped. 

“What?!” Evi’a cried, pushing himself up with a start. “Kal, wait!” But it was too late, the little dragon was already winging his way off. 

“Of all the times to be sarcastic, my love…” the Seeker said ruefully as the Keeper looked forlornly to the horizon. The bard gave a huff, dropped back down to lie on the stone, fixed him with an expression of exasperated fondness. 

“Welcome to adventuring. It looks like our weapons are still here, and perhaps my shirt and your shorts are down in the water, if we’re lucky. I vote you to go half naked to the dragons and beg for our clothes.” 

The Seeker snorted. 

“How high up are we? Hmm, I can’t get down in my current...predicament, seems that lofty quest must fall to you, I say with utmost regret, mind.” 

“The hells you can’t,” the bard chuffed. “I suppose...we could call someone to help us? Who’s back at the Stones right now?”

“You can’t be serious,” G’raha said, blushing with imagined mortification on top of his current very real embarrassment. “Who would you even ask for something like that?”

They both stared up at the clouds for a moment, considering.

“Krile?” Evi’a ventured finally, and G’raha pushed himself up on one elbow for the sole purpose of squinting down at his mate, who smiled up impishly in return. “You wanna go again?” the bard had the audacity to ask, wiggling suggestively. 

The Seeker gave an affected sigh, then grinned.

“Might as well.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I initially thought of this prompt as G'raha parting from himself, but that felt wrong since I think of his character as embracing who he is more than ever. On that note, I wanted to show him breaking free of the part he's played to give himself over more and more to freedom. 
> 
> Also using his particularly feral nature this chapter to step up my own NSFW language a little bit. I like sex described in more romantic terms, but I did use the word 'balls' finally, and I'm giving myself a star for gaining a level XD And sorry not sorry about that ending, I know it goes on but it had to happen! 
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	16. Ache--(WoL/Exarch, M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes all the Warrior of Light can do is be there when someone they love is hurting. Sometimes, that's more than enough. 

By now he didn’t have to, but Evi’a rapped on the door to the Umbilicus anyway, just out of respect. 

There was no answer. He frowned, wondering if Raha had fallen asleep at his desk again. It was two bells past midnight, the hour at which Evi’a had official permission from his love to come and fetch him to bed if he wasn’t there already. Quietly, he threaded his aether into the door, and the Tower granted him admittance--as it had for some time now. 

His love’s back was to him and he was at his desk, not yet asleep but with ears drooped from fatigue. The Keeper opened his mouth to form a greeting, then started as the caretaker dropped his quill with a hiss, clutching at his crystallized arm. As suddenly as the pain came, it seemed to pass, and his Raha’s shoulders gave a pronounced slump of relief. He leaned forward, buried his face in his hands for a moment, then reached for his quill once more with a heavy sigh. 

Evi’a fidgeted in the doorway, fully realizing he probably was not meant to see that, heart pounding with distress at his love’s hurt, that he’d never been allowed to see a symptom that was apparently commonplace enough for the Seeker to deal with it and move on without further care. He gave himself a moment to calm, then called out softly to signal his approach.

“Oh, Evi’a! I’m sorry, I...I didn’t hear you come in,” his love said, turning to look at him with an apologetic--and slightly worried--expression. The Keeper winced to see the weariness in his eyes, the uncharacteristic limpness of his tail. 

“I knocked but you didn’t answer, sorry to let myself in...just thought I’d check here and then see if you were in the garden.”

“Ah. Forgive me, I didn’t hear, I was...distracted,” Raha said, vaguely indicating the tomes and journals laid out before him. 

Evi’a bit his lip, stared for a long moment, debating whether or not he should say anything. The Seeker shifted a bit under his gaze, and that was when he knew he had to ask. This dear miqo’te had spent too long burying his worries and fears, his needs and desires--at the very least Evi’a could offer to listen. 

“Does that happen a lot? With your arm?” he asked quietly as he approached, and the mage hunched in on himself a bit, ears flattening. 

“I...well, sometimes, yes...it’s a byproduct of the crystallization, and as I call upon the energies of the Tower, the process tends to progress. It comes and goes,” he explained in a tired sort of monotone, almost as though he’d rehearsed the answer. His crystallized arm gave a little jerk, so brief Evi’a would not have seen it if he hadn’t been looking for it, and he watched with an aching heart as the pain flashed across Raha’s eyes and was buried with smooth, natural practice, as he had done for who knew how long. Evi’a took a breath, once again weighing his options as the Seeker eyed him warily, then turned back to his journal. 

“Just let me finish this last paragraph, and I’ll come to bed,” he said, appeasement clear in his tone. 

_ He’s worried I’m going to push him on this, _ the Keeper noted, and to an extent, he could understand. There were any number of times that he himself had not wanted attention drawn to his hurts, that he wanted distraction and to not be defined by the sum of his aches and scars. But in his case, he had people to speak to when the hurt became too much, and sometimes he waited too long to do so, with results he was less than proud of. But Raha, who purposefully set himself aside, who shouldered so many burdens without complaint, who until now had no equals to confide in...what of him? 

The thought plagued the Keeper as they made their way back up to their chambers, through otherworldly crystalline hallways and glowing portals. What had it been like to live in this for years, forging through his worries and pain alone? 

The Seeker was unusually quiet as they entered their rooms, and rather than heading for the washroom as was his custom before bed, he made for the bay windows, leaned against the frame, and looked out over his city. Evi’a followed to stand beside him, and they took a moment of quiet, his partner’s eyes distant. 

“Do you want to talk?” Evi’a asked at length, unable to restrain himself any longer. 

“There is nothing I have the right to speak of,” the Seeker murmured in return, leaning his head against the wall. Despite the dismissive words, Evi’a knew he was being allowed to see a rare moment of genuine melancholy, that his love was attempting to be open in other ways to make up for what he could not manage just yet. 

“Why would you not have the right to speak? Is it not your story to tell?” the Keeper asked, and his Raha sighed. 

“Oh, it’s certainly my story, but I fear it would just amount to complaining at best and whining at worst, neither of which I have any cause for in these happy circumstances. I’m fine, my love, truly.” 

“Raha…” he started, trying to think of what would be wise and helpful to say and coming up short. Well, times like these best to follow his heart, he supposed. “Raha, sometimes it’s healthy to complain, and I suspect you’ve done very little of that to anyone this past century. I love you, and if something is troubling your heart, I should be glad to listen.” The Seeker glanced his way with an unreadable look, then straightened, lips pursed. 

“I don’t care to be a burden on the people I love,” he said in a low voice, eyes once more looking ahead into nothing, tail still. 

“My love, if something were troubling me, or if I had a bad day, would you consider me a burden if I spoke to you of my woes?” 

“No, obviously not,” the Seeker said with a sigh, giving him a perturbed look. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah, I’m being pretty transparent about it.” The smaller miqo’te gave him a flicker of a sad half smile, then went to sit on their sofa without a further word. Evi’a understood the silent invitation for what it was, and soon they were seated side by side, his love still and distant as he clasped his hands on his knees. 

“I...you’ll have to forgive me, I don’t usually care to speak on this,” the Seeker said, shaking his head. “But I can read your silence well enough to know that you wish to hear it, and were it myself in your place I should wish to be granted the intimacy of private confidences as well.” He watched quietly as the mage rubbed at his eyes, knowing now was not the time to speak but to listen, and from his love’s tense, closed off body language, he didn’t particularly want to be touched at the moment. 

“I’m old, Evi’a. I know everyone jokes about how young I appear, and I daresay of late I do feel quite a bit younger at heart, owing to your loving presence and that of the Scions. But there are times…” He trailed off, rubbed at his chin for a moment before continuing. “I’ve lived many times over the lifespan of our people, and I  _ feel  _ it, the overlong quality of my life, the dragging of years far longer than I’d ever mentally prepared myself to live. By no means has it been a bad life, per se...the people of the Crystarium have ever been open with their love and affection, for which I am more grateful than I might ever convey with words. But it has been lonely, and filled with a...with a hope alike in every way to the proverbial double-edged sword. Oh, how it gave me cause and life, and yet twisted a dagger into my heart to think I might never see our plans to fruition. That I might never see you again. Frankly, the fear grew overwhelming at times, until naught but the terror of failure filled my heart. I know Lyna told you about my weariness, about my episodes of staying abed longer than I should...the Tower-induced sleeps notwithstanding.” 

Evi’a nodded. There was no point denying it, and he suspected that his love knew that he knew. The Seeker nodded in return, steepled his fingers beneath his chin as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. 

“I had thought to be done with these bouts of melancholy when our task was done, when the Light was purged. And yet...it seems the old fears have been replaced with new, more urgent concerns, just when I thought I’d be shed of my worries. I know they helped you, I know you’re glad of their company, as am I, but believe me when I say I never meant to call the Scions here. The weight of their lives in my hands is almost more than I can bear. And I’ve apologized before, but I’ll say it again--I’m sorry for always thinking wistfully of the easy way out, of sacrifice to see my causes fulfilled. In truth I’m just running, because I’m tired. I’m always so tired,” he whispered, finally hiding his face in his hands, ears pinned back and trembling. Evi’a blinked back tears, reached out thinking to rest a hand on his love’s back, but jolted with surprise when the Seeker sat up suddenly and looked to him, eyes shining with tears. 

“But it’s better now! It’s ever so much better than it was, and I don’t want you to feel as though…” His words stilled as Evi’a pulled him into an embrace, reached up to smooth his ears. 

“Hush Raha, I know this isn’t about me,” he whispered. “It’s okay to speak of this. Truly. Let me listen, let us divide our tears between us until we might smile once more.” His heart gave a painful lurch as a wounded exhalation of a cry escaped his love, as the smaller miqo’te melted against him, buried his face against his neck, clenched fists into his shirt. 

“Gods, but my arm hurts,” the Seeker ground out in a cracking voice, bunting up hard under his chin. Evi’a pulled him closer and held him tight, ran a comforting hand down his back.

“I know, Raha,” he said gently, rubbing his cheek against soft, trembling ears. “I know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one hurt a bit to write, but Evi'a doesn't have the means to help with a lot of these crystal-induced symptoms except to be there, and to be sensitive about when to gently press and when to let it go. Raha's been hurting for a long time, and while he does need to start talking about it in a supportive atmosphere, he doesn't need everyone fretting over him all the time. 
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	17. Lucubration--(Alphinaud & Ysayle, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the morrow, their party will be heading to Zenith to beseech Hraesvaelgr for his aid in brokering peace between Ishgard and Dravania. Alphinaud finds himself restless in the early hours of the morning, and discovers in Ysayle a like companion. 
> 
> lucubration (noun): laborious work, study, thought, etc., especially at night.

Alphinaud gave up on sleep, carefully rolled over onto his back to look up at the twinkling stars, heavily aware of Evi’a’s steady warmth pressed against his side, the crackling of a campfire half burnt down to embers as it kept the bitter cold of the Churning Mists at bay. 

He was really going to have to stop bundling up with the Keeper like this. It had made more sense when they were traveling in the frozen lands of Coerthas, when the heat of a shared bedroll skirted the line between a necessity for survival and a precious and simple comfort to their ragged spirits. Now...now they just kept at it because it was familiar, because the companionship was too sweet to let go. There was a time that he’d only wistfully imagined that Evi’a would wish to keep him so near in the span of his grand adventures...but this was not what he’d had in mind in his self-centered fantasies. How it hurt his pride and drove thorns into his heart to find himself grown closer to his beloved hero over the path extending from the most abysmal failure of his young life, rather than hard earned mutual accomplishment. 

But it also gladdened him to know that Evi’a was the truest of friends, that the miqo’te meant to stand with him through any hardship, that they had become ever dearer to one another over the challenges of the past few moons. Alphinaud felt as though he were seeing both himself and the Keeper for the first time for who they were, and this discovery in turn served as a comfortable stepping stone from which to begin the realignment of his thoughts regarding the rest of the world. 

After all he’d done, after all the Keeper had done for him, it nearly shamed him to know that he wanted more than this familial camaraderie. Nearly. Despite his shortcomings, he knew himself to be accomplished in his own right, knew he had potential, knew that Evi’a believed in him. That would be enough—it would have to be. He turned his head to smile at the Keeper, slumbering peacefully beside him. Evi’a cared for him as a little brother, and in time, his own heart would adjust to rejoice in that truth.

But not yet, not right now with all these beautiful nights adventuring together under open skies in dragon-kept lands. He swallowed against the ache in his chest and sat up, casting his eyes about the camp. Estinien stood still as a statue, clouds of breath softly puffing from his helm as he looked on toward Zenith and kept watch. Alphinaud spared a moment to look toward that towering monolith himself, hardly daring to believe that they might speak to Hraesvaelgr tomorrow and make an ally of a dragon. He imagined he was not the only one occupied with his thoughts tonight--their conversation around the campfire had been unusually open and introspective, the mood after dinner peaceable and thoughtful despite Estinien and Ysayle’s disagreement. 

Thinking on this, he turned his eyes to Ysayle’s bedroll, and raised his eyebrows to find that she was not present. She had not gone far, however—once he stood he could see her sitting on a boulder just to the west, her long hair blowing gently in the wind as she looked to Zenith. 

So he was not the only one left restless at this hour of the morning, then. He looked to her pensively, wondering if she would care for company. They’d had so little in the way of chances to speak to one another alone, and despite her terrible missteps, he admired the strength of her drive to forge peace between Ishgard and Dravania, the unexpected kindness and humility of her character despite all she’d been through, all she’d put others through. 

He stood a great deal to learn from her.

Already his feet were carrying him in her direction, and gentle as she was, if she wished for privacy she was like to let him know in her own soft, tactful way. Knowing her as he did now, it was difficult to remember that he’d once thought of her only as “Iceheart”.

“I had not expected you awake at this time of the morning, Master Alphinaud. Does aught trouble your thoughts?” she asked quietly once he’d made his greeting. 

“I wouldn’t name my thoughts troubling, perhaps just too tangled and plentiful for proper rest. I must say, the idea of speaking to Hraesvaelgr tomorrow is quite...distracting, especially when there is an odd sense of finality hanging in the air tonight. ” She smiled, looked back toward Zenith.

“All will be well. Hraesvaelgr is an honorable soul. With him as our ally, we will put an end to this war, and after that...Well, what is finality after all but a chance to regroup and think on the beginnings of a new journey?” 

He returned her smile, wishing he shared her optimism but understanding it all the same. Gods knew he had his own sentimental blinders, try as he might to school himself otherwise. 

“What will you do when the war is settled and all is done?” he asked, electing to follow along with the thread of her positivity for now. She patted the rock beside her, and he took her up on her offer. 

“I mislead a great many to their doom, and there are yet those half caught between dragon and man who will not be welcomed by either,” she said quietly, looking back out toward Zenith. “I know of no means by which I might give them back their rightful lives, and there can be no forgiveness for what I’ve done, but I must make whatever effort I may to restore them to their natural forms, at the very least. I am no scholar or alchemist, but in time I may yet find a way. And what of you, if I may ask?” He looked to her, then stared out to Zenith himself, privately struck all over again by the similar arrogant nature of their misdeeds.

“I’ll need to disband the Crystal Braves, first thing. So many of them died for my impossible, childish high ideals, for my naivete and vanity. What’s left of them deserve better, deserve a true leader...and I may yet someday become that man, but for now it is for me to sit back and learn, an adventurer in the field. I confess I feel in large part as though I am only hanging onto Evi’a’s coattails as the moment, but someday I hope I might truly develop the wisdom and fortitude necessary to follow in his example,” he said, wishing he could have kept the forlorn note out of his voice. 

“You love him, don’t you?” she asked softly, and he felt his ears burn all the way to the tips. And yet, he was not inclined to deny it. On a normal day perhaps he’d have been reduced to a stammering mess, but in this company and confidence, he felt oddly comfortable. 

“Yes,” he admitted. “But he is never going to return that sentiment. Even if he might have someday, he’s falling into a relationship with the commander of Camp Dragonhead. They make one another happy, and Haurchefant is a dear ally and an honorable man. It is not for me to wish for more than what I’ve been given.”

“Ah, but wishing is as precious as it is painful,” she answered with a half smile. “Never stop wishing, Alphinaud--it is the natural foundation of life.” He looked to her for a moment, unsure of how to respond, especially considering that this woman had somehow become a primal through the fervent wishes of others whom she’d ultimately led astray. But then again, perhaps she was right...history and the world around them had quite literally been shaped by the combined wishes of the souls of this star, both for ill and for good. 

“Do you truly believe this will go well tomorrow?” he finally asked, unable to think of what else to say. 

“I do,” she murmured. “Though I confess, I cannot claim to be certain that my love will be returned as I hope. The soul of Saint Shiva resides within me, and yet the lives of dragons are long, mysterious, and beautiful. Their time together as lovers was short as it were, and he has already mourned her loss. But I cannot fathom that he would turn a blind eye to our pleas, good as I remember him to be.” A smile quirked her lips as she looked down to her lap, then at him. “It would seem that in the coming days both of us will likely need to remind ourselves to be grateful for the love that  _ has _ been granted us.” 

He gave a bittersweet smile in return. 

“Yes, it would seem so...though for your sake, I pray that all you wish comes to fruition tomorrow.” 

“And I shall pray for you, for grace on your path. For what it’s worth from a woman such as myself, I’m glad to have spent this time on the road coming to know you.” 

“And I you,” he replied, a gentle, lulling calm coming over him as he watched her look serenely back toward Zenith, a new wish taking form in his heart. Now was not the time, and he had not the right to ask just yet, but perhaps by the time the peace for which she had long toiled came to pass, he would have the pleasure of being the one to extend his hand to her in invitation to join the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Until then, he would look forward to that day, when they might walk a renewed path together in like cause. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to challenge myself with something that is not WoL/G'raha. I won't get on this soapbox, but Ysayle really should have been a Scion. I miss her. There was such potential there for the relationship between her and Alphinaud, her gentle mentoring friendship vs. Estinien's approach. Such a lament for what we never got in general with her. 
> 
> Realized when I wrote this that I don't remember exactly when the team found out Ysayle's name, but I HC that Evi'a and Alphinaud would have asked early on--neither one of them would have felt it respectful to call her "Iceheart".


	18. Fade--(WoL/G'raha, M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fifteen years after the events of 5.3, Evi'a and G'raha are living a beautiful life...but why does G'raha keep returning to the Tower, and what is he searching for when he gazes at himself in the mirror?

“Keep this up and you’ll overtake me!” Evi’a laughed as Raha continued to pass him instrument cases from outside. First the harp and erhu, then the flute and morin khuur, two violins, the clarinet and finally, Raha’s new oboe on which he’d made his inaugural performance today. Alphinaud and his daughter Ysaelia would be bringing the cellos by later in the evening, having been sufficiently bribed with the promise of chestnut tea and cinnamon crumble apple pie.

“Oh, hardly!” the Seeker exclaimed, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile. “I might play more instruments than you but there is nothing to compare with long experience...your violin especially has a sound that I’ll never manage.” 

“And I’ll never match you at the cello,” Evi’a countered, dropping a kiss on his love’s head before they began to store their instruments. “You absolutely had to cover for me today and you know it.”

“Adds character to the performance,” Raha replied, standing on his tiptoes to seek a proper kiss. Evi’a gave him what he wished for and more, pulling him into an embrace and running his fingers down the Seeker’s waist length braid by habit. There was a time that he might have been self conscious about his old injuries playing up, but those days were long past—he and Raha had been playing together for so long that the fluidity of their adjustments were nearly perfect. 

As always after a performance at the Mih Khetto they went about their own devices for a bit, enjoying the quiet as they calmed from the adrenaline rush of being on stage. Today Raha pulled on his white ruffled apron—the one made by his granddaughter all those years ago—and padded into the kitchen to go about making his legendary apple pie. Evi’a wandered outside through their glorious jungle of a garden—also mostly Raha’s work—and picked up the mail. 

“Anything interesting?” the Seeker asked as he put together the dough, flour powdering his tail. 

“Aymeric’s invited us to dinner on the 16th...I think we’re both free that day. Emmanelain says Honoroit and Saulette’s baby is due any day now, we’ll have to see about a gift. And Sezul’s lot has finished their newest airship; he’s inviting us to come on the maiden flight three days from now. That should be fun, the Ixali are always refreshing to speak to.”

“Ah, I’ve already promised to meet Ironworks at the Tower that day...I wonder if I can reschedule, I’d love to ride the airship. I’ll give Cid a call in the morning.” Evi’a nodded, and after brushing one last kiss over his husband’s ears, headed to the workshop they’d added to the house several years past and sat at his woodworking bench to continue carving the floral trim on their newest bookshelf. 

He’d said nothing to Raha about his private misgivings, but sometimes he wished his love would just let the Tower go, after all these years. He knew he was being selfish, and that the Seeker kept up his friendship with Rammbroes, Cid, and the others gladdened his heart. Yet even fifteen years after his return to the Source, every time the Seeker returned from his quarterly checks into the Tower seals, he was quiet and distant for days after, his crimson eyes focused inward on some conundrum that only he could see and was disinclined to speak of. Over the past few years the Seeker had also developed that habit of leaning close to the washroom mirror, peering this way and that for some sign--and was always instantly embarrassed and anxious to draw attention away from what he’d done when Evi’a happened to catch him at it. For whatever reason, this new quirk was always more prominent in the days before and after visiting the Tower. Evi’a wasn’t sure that it was healthy, these trips, but he also wasn’t sure that Raha could keep himself from going...his very soul had been marked as the Tower’s caretaker, after all. Perhaps better to let him do what he needed and be done with it, but Evi’a always worried during these absences, and his husband’s inevitable melancholy upon his return made the Keeper’s heart ache. 

Otherwise though, he could not complain about their life together. Matters had been settled with the Empire some eight years prior, and not a moment too soon...the decades of constant fighting were beginning to take their toll, both on his body and spirit. At forty five years of age, it wasn’t that he couldn’t take to battle--he remained a superb shot and regularly instructed at the archer’s guild, and still took part in occasional endeavors to keep the peace. No, it was more that he was weary of the struggle, and he now understood Raha’s feelings more than ever back when his love had come to the decision to let the First move on without him. 

His major part on the world stage was done, that was all there was to it, and better to make a dignified exit before the slow fade of his prowess got him into trouble...or worse, got the people he cared for into trouble. 

He’d worried at first that the Seeker would be bored with their postwar settled life, but he needn’t have done. They immediately fell into honing their skills as bards and joyfully learning new instruments, and within short order had secured somewhat regular sold-out performances at the Mih Khetto. Most likely it helped their success that he was the Warrior of Light, but they  _ were _ both quite skilled, and Raha had a heartrendingly beautiful singing voice that he would never tire of hearing. Aside from their performances, they were never bored--there were always people to visit, or places to travel, and if they were feeling adventurous, there was always middling work to be found. Should they wish for peace and quiet, there was cooking, gardening, crafting and all of the myriad hobbies they’d come to enjoy together. There were sunlit mornings with pancakes and rolanberries, rainy afternoons spent snuggled on the sofa with their favorite books, starlit evenings where they ran yet eager hands over one another in the backyard hot spring. 

Truly, it was a charmed life. 

He turned on his bench, his meandering thoughts interrupted as the door cracked open, the sweet domestic smell of baking apples wafting into his workshop as Raha poked his head in.

“I want to go upstairs and have a wash before Alphinaud and Ysaelia come, can you watch the pie for me?” he asked. 

“Need any help with that?” Evi’a asked, wiggling his ears suggestively, and his husband chuffed.

“I think not, our guests might show up at any moment and I, for one, would rather enjoy their company to the fullest rather than spend my evening hot and distracted.” 

“Mmm, hot and distracted sounds nice.”

“To you, perhaps!” he exclaimed, moving forward for an embrace that left wood shavings clinging to them both. Evi’a sat up a little straighter as his love nibbled along the shell of his left ear.

“You watch my pie like a good boy,” the Seeker breathed, “and I’ll show you all the hot and distracted you want later tonight.” 

“I’ll take care of it,” the Keeper whispered, biting his lip as the mage pulled away, appreciating the elegant curves of his love’s pert arse as he turned back for the door.

“You’d best,” Raha answered, giving a sultry flick of his tail as he made his way upstairs. 

Yes, a very good life indeed. It was difficult to focus on his work after that, he was so worried that he might lose track of time, and as no doubt was his love’s intention,  _ he  _ was the one feeling hot and distracted. After a while he gave up and went to read in the living room where he could keep an eye on the oven, and once the crust and streusel had browned to perfection, he set it on a rack in the center of their small walnut dining table to cool. After that he readied the water in the kettle and carefully measured out the tea leaves, then returned to the sofa to read and wait for his husband to come downstairs or their guests to show, whichever came first. 

He waited, and waited, and waited some more. 

That Alphinaud was late was not so surprising--the elezen did tend to get waylaid when he visited Gridania taking his beloved daughter to all of her favorite shops. Raha, however…

He frowned and cast his eyes up to the ceiling. He’d have expected his love down by now, and wondered if the Seeker had lost track of time. With a sigh, he pushed himself to stand and made his way upstairs. 

“Raha?” he called, as he cleared the stairwell. 

“Just a moment!” Evi’a’s ears perked with curiosity to hear the excitement in that melodious voice. 

“Oookay,” he answered, sitting obediently on the edge of the bed to wait, tail swishing behind him with impatience. 

He jolted as the washroom door was flung open and his Raha appeared, completely naked with his undone hair hanging wild and mussed, grinning like a fool with tears in his eyes.

“Evi’a!” he cried, then crossed the room and practically leapt into his lap. 

“Wh...yes?” he asked, bewildered as strong arms were thrown around his neck. Belatedly he returned the embrace, chuffing with amusement as the Seeker bunted hard under his chin, fluffed red tail lashing madly behind him. 

“Look, look what I found, do you see it?” Raha asked, pointing animatedly to the top of his head. Evi’a blinked and looked him over, uncertain as to what he was searching for. 

“Er…” he said awkwardly, not wanting to dash his love’s enthusiasm. The Seeker gave a huff of exasperation. 

“Here, it should be here!” he exclaimed, reaching close to his scalp and taking up a lock of hair. “Look!”

Evi’a frowned again, peered closer, but the only thing he could see was…

“You...you have grey hairs?” he ventured, praying this was the point. 

“Yes!” his husband cried with a happy bounce. “Yes, don’t you...don’t you see what this means? I’m aging naturally after all! W-we’re going to grow old together…!” he said tremulously, tears streaming down his freckled cheeks. 

Evi’a’s eyes widened as the Seeker buried his face against his neck, pale shoulders trembling. 

He’d always assumed that they would, had never considered that the Tower might yet hold Raha in its grip, eternal and immortal...and his love had never disabused him of his optimistic notions. How long had he worried, for how many years had he anxiously gone to test his links to the Tower, trying to sort out if his guardianship was permanent and unshakable? Was this the sign that Raha had been looking for in the mirror all along? Why should grey hairs be the deciding factor and not the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes or the pains developing in his wrist from his passion for writing? Either way, this development was clearly the defining proof his love had desperately sought after, and the Keeper was not of a mind to question him, certainly not after failing to recognize the nature of his pain for all this time. Evi’a took a calming breath, held his husband safe and close. 

“Yeah, we will,” he murmured, blinking back tears as he nuzzled at soft red ears. “I’ll carve us both the most beautiful canes you’ve ever seen, and hold them in reserve until we need them.” The Seeker gave a watery laugh, looked up at him with a tear-streaked, wobbly grin. 

“You know, I think I’ll cancel my trip to the Find, ask Cid and Rammbroes to come visit us, for once. I’ve got an airship ride to enjoy.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HC that the overlong years of Raha's life have been hard on him, and that as the Exarch the thought of the grind possibly being eternal was almost more than he could bear. It wouldn't surprise me if he were still anxious about it upon his return to the Source, that he might never be afforded a normal life, that he might have to live on forever after watching Evi'a grow old and die. Most of his attachment to finding grey hairs is that he wants to see if he's naturally greying from the top down rather than the magically induced greying from the bottom up. 
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	19. Panglossian--(Biggs III & G'raha Tia, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excerpts from the journal of Biggs III from the 8th Umbral Era 201, the first of two years spent by G'raha Tia at Lake Silvertear. 
> 
> panglossian: characterized by or given to extreme optimism, especially in the face of unrelieved hardship or adversity.

Excerpts from the Private Log of Biggs, the Third of His Name,

Eighteenth President of Garlond Ironworks

  
  


_ 8th Umbral Era 201, 2nd Astral Moon 15 _

...For a man who’s been told everyone he loved died terrible and ignoble deaths, he certainly does seem to be holding up a sight more decent than I reckon I would under the same conditions. Reckon I’d have hid in my tent a good bit longer than the two days. Bit of an awkward fellow yet, doesn’t seem so keen on mixing with others. More he doesn’t know what to do with himself than anything, though I suppose who would, under these circumstances. There’s some naysaying whispers floating around the base, folk thinking he’s not the one we need to pin our hopes on, but hells, there’s no one else, and he seems a good lad with a fine steel backing in that crimson gaze. Mark me now, he’s no coward. We’re not finished with the Tycoon anyway, there’s time for him to come round. 

_ 8th Umbral Era 201, 2nd Astral Moon 20 _

Let G’raha Tia borrow our safeguarded copies of Heavensward and Stormblood several days back. I’m a fool for not doing so sooner; he read them as one possessed. 

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man square his shoulders and clear his countenance so quickly in my life. 

_ 8th Umbral Era 201, 2nd Umbral Moon 11 _

...There is no one on this base who sleeps less, or asks more questions, than G’raha Tia. Maybe he doesn’t need sleep anymore, on account of his ties to the Tower, but seems like it would be rude to ask so I haven’t. Anyroad, seems like he really was an accomplished scholar in his time, and wasn’t just giving himself airs--for one so young, he is an absolute font of learning and he will regale anyone who is interested (and a few who are not) with tomes worth of memorized history. He is also ever seeking to add to his repertoire of knowledge, ever inquisitive with anyone who has the patience to lend an ear. 

Aside from his academic propensities, the stories he tells around the campfire at night are incredible, and he tells them so well, bright and vivacious and full of a life I haven’t seen around these parts for gods only know how many years. I reckon he’s not used to having an audience so keen on his words, but he does have a flair for the dramatic, says he was something of a bard back in the day. There was a time I’d have thought he was blowing smoke out of his arse, but I suppose the chosen one of the Allag royal bloodline would have to be quite a remarkable person. 

His stories of more fortunate times are well-loved, but none more than tapestries of adventure he weaves around the Warrior of Light. Hearing the way he talks about his inspiration, I reckon they might have been in love, but that’s none of my business.

I’m just glad all the doubts and naysaying about him have been definitively shut down. He might be small, but there’s a fire burning in his heart, and I can see those embers sailing on the wind and kindling in the souls of our much tested people. 

_ 8th Umbral Era 201, 3rd Astral Moon 3 _

When G’raha Tia asked for my blessing several weeks back to set up basic lessons for those in the Settlement to learn their letters and figures, I thought sure he was joking...but it turns out, he was quite serious. Much as we’re generally a scientific lot on the base proper, the area surrounding is full of refugees and survivors with little connection to our more academic endeavors. I fully expected him to tire of such work, quicksilver and clever as his mind is, but word about the camp is that he is present every other day at the appointed bell, and has set up a peer system in which the students help one another so that progress is not solely dependent on him. It’s more involved than that, he says it was a system they used back in his days as a student on Val. I won’t go into it, but it’s really good of him to take on something like that, especially given that we don’t know if we’ll be here in a couple year’s time. I said that to him, told him not to overwork himself, and he countered that no one knows if they’ll be around in a couple years time, better to make the best of life while you have it. I suppose he has a point. 

_ 8th Umbral Era 201, 4th Umbral Moon 4 _

Band of raiders descended on us today while we were escorting families into North Silvertear from the settlement that was razed a fortnight past…

It was really something watching him fight, a right wicked shot with that crossbow he keeps at his side, and has the rare quality of being simultaneously utterly fearless but also practical. What impressed me more though was his behavior in the aftermath, the way he effortlessly calmed everyone he spoke to, the way no task was too menial for him. He was also surprisingly good with the children, eased their fears tonight reading stories, holding them in turn, helping reunite them with their parents where he could. There was one little girl, both her parents were killed, and I reckon he’d have asked to keep her, or at the very least gone out of his way to see her cared for if other family hadn’t spoken up for her. Didn’t realize he was so tender hearted, and I’ve got mixed feelings about it, if I’m honest. On the one hand, of course I wouldn’t wish to put our hopes and dreams on a man who is less than upstanding and empathetic, but at the same time, what we’re asking is such a heavy burden...I can only pray that his good heart survives the storm. 

That calm and leadership in the face of chaos sure did me well to see though. If we don’t get expunged from the pages of history, he’s going to be sorely missed around here. 

_ 8th Umbral Era 201, 5th Astral Moon 12  _

Had my misgivings about it, but in our monthly journeying for supplies and trade, we flew near Limsa, where of course the mausoleum for the Warrior of Light stands. He was of a mind to go and pay his respects, and none of had the right to deny him or complain of wasted time, considering. So we made our landing, and he and I hiked into the ruined and precariously listing city of Limsa Lominsa. I don’t know what I expected exactly, but I knew what the others were afraid of--that this would break him, that this would be the blow that snapped his calm, unshakeable positivity that we had all come to value so dearly.

I was embarrassed as we came upon the place, to tell the truth. Not as though it was my fault that the statue’s gone, the stone crumbling, that the whole thing was awash with seaweed and detritus and all manner of faded and broken rubbish left by those who’d come to visit. If I had ears like that mine would have drooped as well, to behold such a sight. I wanted to show him that we were better than that, that the world hadn’t forgotten...but in truth a lot of the world had, the rest of us clinging to a faded symbol of hope as best as we could. 

Thought he might weep, or show some sign of disgust, and I was shifting something fierce when he picked up this grey rag of a waterlogged doll, turned to me all slowly and asked, “What is this?” 

I explained to him, quiet and shamed, that folk didn’t have anything of worth to give anymore, and if anything valuable was left it was sure to be stolen. In the stories, it was always said the Warrior was a crafter, that he took especial joy in repurposing rubbish into new creations. So, that’s what people were leaving, as a symbol. Bits of lumber, broken chairs, old dolls, that sort of thing. Rubbish. Maybe the sort of thing he’d fix, if he were around, kind of like our fixer-upper of a world. 

Like I said, I don’t know what I was expecting, but I didn’t expect him to laugh, for the smile to touch his eyes like that. 

“Aye, that he did,” G’raha Tia answered, smiling fondly at the mess. “He would love to be remembered like this.” I asked him if he meant to leave something, and he shook his head. “I’ll be seeing him again someday, I’m sure of it.” Then he reconsidered, smiled again. “I might bring him some flowers, though, he always loved them.” 

Didn’t have the heart to tell the man I’d only seen flowers on two occasions in my life. Stubborn as he is, that wouldn’t sway him anyhow. I don’t know what’s possessed me to write so fully on what I saw today, but...odd as it sounds to say, something settled in my own soul, watching him. I never realized I still questioned, deep down, if we were doing the right thing.

No more though. Seeing him there with his head held high like that, I felt like we could accomplish anything.

_ 8th Umbral Era 201, 6th Astral Moon 13 _

G’raha Tia’s been up to something these past few days, staying in his tent overlong in the morning and going to bed early.I was worried, thinking maybe he was ill, maybe things were getting to him more than he was letting on. My concerns got the better of my good manners, and so tonight I let myself in just to check on him, and Oschon as my witness, the man was sewing a flower, remnants of that red shirt he was wearing when we woke him all over the floor. I laughed, thinking perhaps he’d found someone on the base that he fancied, but I should have known better. 

“It’s for him,” he’d said, smiling in that quiet, pensive way he has. “I thought, if there aren’t any flowers, I’ll make one, but I fear I’m a terrible hand at this,” he lamented, holding up what might look like an artistic rendition of a tulip if one squinted real hard. Course, my mirth was gone by then, and even more so to see tears shining in his eyes for the first time as he surveyed the scraps on the floor. “Well,” he said, shaking himself and looking to me with bright eyes, “in any case, this should suit perfectly--it could definitely use fixing, and I know he’d smile.” 

_ 8th Umbral Era 201, 6th Astral Moon 28 _

We didn’t really need to go, but not a soul complained about the waste of fuel or resources when I took him back to Limsa. It was a fair day, and we made it back to the mausoleum without issue. I probably shouldn’t have stayed while he put his flower down, but in any case he appeared well, his shoulders square and his chin lifted as he stood and looked to the mountain of offerings, said something I couldn’t quite catch. I asked him if he were alright, which in retrospect was a pretty empty sort of question, but he looked to me and nodded with such serene conviction that I believed him in a heartbeat. 

We made to leave, but something caught his eye at the last moment, and he took off at a jog without hesitation. I swore and followed him--one never knows what’s lurking, these days--and when I caught up to him he was lifting a bent, broken-stringed harp from the dump, his eyes sparkling as though he’d found buried treasure. 

“This,” he said, all quiet and joyful, “This is something  _ I _ can fix.” 

And so he made his apologies to the soul who originally gave the gift, asked his Warrior if he might borrow the instrument for a while, and made off like a bandit with his prize. 

Generally taking offerings is frowned upon, but if anyone deserves that beat up harp, it’s him, and quite frankly, I’m chuffed at the prospect of hearing some music around the campfire. If it were anyone else, I’d have my doubts, but I can’t help thinking he’s very likely to pleasantly surprise us all with some heretofore undemonstrated musical talent. 

_ 8th Umbral Era 201, 6th Umbral Moon 14 _

We haven’t heard so much as a note out of that harp he salvaged, but according to him he’s got it all fixed up, and the success has lit a right fire under him for holding a proper Starlight. We haven’t really had the means for a Starlight since I can remember, and children in these times aren’t raised to expect presents. Still, he is adamant that it’s possible, and between our joint research, his lessons in the settlement, and his assistance with the Tycoon, he’s been going from tent to tent gathering all manner of rubbish and broken knick knacks, then making sure they reach the hands of someone who can do something with them. I would never have believed it possible, but yesterday he triumphantly showed me a growing pile of simple toys he’s amassed in the corner of his tent. I figure it’s probably all rubbish to a child of his time, but for many of our little ones, it will be the only holiday gift they have ever received in their lives. His unapologetic enthusiasm for the festival has been infectious, and it’s so good to see the joy of anticipation in everyone’s eyes as the day draws nearer. The trappers are laying in for a modest feast, and I even saw makeshift wreaths being sewn out of scrap cloth around the fire two days past. 

I tried to thank him for his service to the settlement, tell him what he means to us, but he seemed embarrassed and shrugged my clumsy words away, claiming that the hope was in the hearts of the people all along.

Sometimes I really just want to give G’raha Tia an old fashioned swat to the head, for all the good it would do.

  
  


_ 8th Umbral Era 201, 6th Umbral Moon 25 _

I wasn’t wrong, the man sings so beautifully the stars might weep to hear him. The children were all rosy cheeked and excited, cradling their new toys in their arms, but there was not a word breathed around the fire as he lifted his voice to the heavens, plucked away at that harp as though he were born holding it. The melodies were unfamiliar to us, and indeed later he said they were ancient songs of Allag, but each note was as a new discovery, a reminder that beauty yet remained, even in our blighted world, if we but reached out our hands to seek it. 

I’ve thought all this time that we were sacrificing ourselves for a greater good, and perhaps that’s how it will end up, but I can’t make myself truly believe this anymore. Looking at him, looking at us and all we’ve accomplished, this is a world that is still worth saving, that is not yet beyond the pale of hope, as long as we hold on to that spark in our souls. This doesn’t change our plan, but if by some stroke of fate we do live on, we will meet that challenge with our heads held high and our eyes ever forward, just as G’raha Tia faces his own fate. 

_ 8th Umbral Era 202, 1st Astral Moon 1 _

Gods, here we are, a new year, and I cannot put into words how much more gladly we look to the future now than we did at this time a year past, all thanks to the tireless, infectious, unwavering hope of the man we roused from his slumber in the Tower. 

I went looking for G’raha Tia this morning seeing as he didn’t show for our usual coffee. As it turned out, I needed only join the crowd craning their heads all the way back in their efforts to watch him--the man had somehow scaled the fragile uppermost beams of the Agrias, and for all appearances was singing a song to Midgardsormr, the faint notes of his harp carrying down to us on the wind. 

Once he returned to the ground (and questionably, his senses), I asked him what in bloody hells he thought he was doing. He seemed very pleased with himself, said he was thanking the dragon for sheltering him for a year, telling him of our plans to save two stars. In my exasperation I told him the dragon had slumbered for centuries, and wasn’t about to wake up for a half mad miqo’te plucking a harp. I shouldn’t have wasted my breath, really--he’s a bard after all, and fool romantic notions go rather hand in hand with the profession. He just smiled at me and said,

“No dragon ever truly slumbers, Master Biggs, and who knows? There might come a day where he may deign to offer you more than the auspices of his wings.”

Or something like that. It was an effort not to laugh, but then, back in his day the dragon spoke, so what do I know? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone fits 'panglossian' it's G'raha, but I think it also applies well to the survivors of the 8th Umbral Calamity, and that they would have heavily inspired one another.
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	20. Where the Heart Is (Wol/Exarch/G'raha Tia, M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A home for three will be challenging, but you are ready to return to your own house and bring your loves with you, starting with the younger G'raha Tia. 
> 
> A continuation of Two of Them/The First Faire, although this can probably be read alone. Set in an AU where the Exarch comes back with the WoL to the Source, and they wake G'raha Tia. No merge, two of them.

“With all this quiet going around, I’d have thought you’d have gone home by now, as much as you were looking forward to it before,” Krile muses over her tea, and you freeze mid-sip, darting your eyes at her. She looks puzzled for a moment, then has the grace to look chagrined. 

“Ah, that’s right, you always spoke so fondly of your garden,” the Exarch says warmly beside you. “I should very much like to see it sometime.” 

“Oh, it’s probably a mess,” you say hastily. “Seeing as how long I’ve been away. I’ve not thought of it as much as I’d expected I would since I got back, since nearly everyone I love is here.” That is an absolute lie—in truth, you’d wanted to take your elder love home with you the night you arrived, to spend a few days together lost in each other in the home you’d promised to share with him. How often you’d daydreamed about it, back in your time on the First! But then, the reality of your return became a little more tricky than anticipated, and after a moon and a half you’re still sleeping in your Rising Stones quarters while your beloved, neglected garden continues to sprout weeds. 

“You only have one bedroom, don’t you?” Raha guesses shrewdly from your other side, and your face tells the answer. “That’s what I thought,” he muses, and you squint at Krile, who raises her eyebrows and hides behind another sip of tea. Luckily your elder love helpfully diverts the conversation to the subject of the apartments the twins have purchased recently in their own bids for independence, and you are saved for the moment. 

But this is a conversation you’ve run from for too long, the issue one that you’re going to have to begin resolving, one way or the other—you can’t just leave your house standing empty forever. After some thought, you have a quiet talk with the Exarch that night in bed, and he is as gracious and understanding as ever. Sometimes you wonder about how much he makes way and leaves over in your life together on the Source, but there’s a third person in the mix now, and compromises are going to be a necessary part of life. 

So, the next morning you head for the younger miqo’te’s quarters before he can join everyone for breakfast, hoping to have him for a moment alone. When you tap on the door, he opens it to greet you in nothing but his shorts and undershirt, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and futilely attempting to smooth down his mussed hair. You’ve seen him at his ease before on your travels and when you went to the beach together, but you don’t think you’ll ever get over the wonder of seeing him like this again. It always reminds you of the times you woke up together back at the Find, the one night you had him before gilded doors sealed him away for what you’d thought would be forever. He smells warm and sleepy, and you wish you could come in and join him in bed, but you’re not quite there yet.

“Since when do you get up this early?” he grumbles, and you scrunch your eyes at him, considering he’s the one running you and your elder love out of your sleeping rolls at sunrise every time you travel together.

“I was wondering if you wanted to come to my house today,” you ask, getting it out before you can lose your nerve. He blinks and straightens, ears perked and suddenly considerably more alert.

“Me? I won’t lie, I’d hoped you might ask sooner or later, but shouldn’t you be taking him first?” he asks, leaning against the door frame and regarding you seriously. Luckily you were prepared for exactly this, considering that he’s been quite sensitive any time he’s felt you’re compromising your happiness for his sake. 

“No...I want it to be you.” When he looks at you with open skepticism, you continue. “I wanted to ask you, before...before you left. I never got up enough nerve, and then, well. Now you’re here again, and I met you first, and...and this feels the most natural to me, to have you there first.” You look to him anxiously, well aware you’ve fumbled the careful words you meant to say. His expression is unreadable, his ears flicking thoughtfully.

“It’s my fault I never had the chance to go, though,” he finally says.

“If you want to be technical about it, it’s his fault as well,” you say with exasperation. This isn’t the conversation you want to have right now, and frankly you’re not interested in apportioning blame—though you can appreciate that he’s still struggling with the magnitude of his actions. “The point is, I want you to come. If...if you want to, that is,” you trail off, suddenly wondering if he’s not ready for this. For all he’s been more snuggly of late, more open about holding hands in public, you’ve still never kissed, never openly discussed what your future together will look like. Such a bold invitation first thing in the morning might be too much, but the question had to be asked.

“Aye,” he says at length, a crooked smile stealing over his lips as a faint blush rises in his cheeks. “Of course. I mean...forgive me, I didn’t mean to make it sound like...anyway. Did you...I suppose you mean today?” he asks, and your heart soars to see his posture relaxing, the clear abashed happiness in his eyes. 

“Yes, today, if you’re free,” you say breathlessly, feeling as though you’re falling in love with this soul all over again, as though you’ve asked him out on a first date. 

Which, come to think, perhaps you have—you’ve never been anywhere with him alone except for a few brief spells in Costa del Sol. 

“Yeah, I’m free, what else would I...I mean, let me just go put on some clothes,” he says distractedly, moving to close the door—and then opens it again. “Are we...er, are we coming back today, or is this an overnight sort of thing, or…?” he falters, struggling to meet your eyes as he asks. Your cheeks are hot as well, but you nod.

“You’re more than welcome to stay overnight, if you like,” you offer shyly.

“Seven hells,” he swears softly, and turns to shut the door without answering, tail lashing madly behind him. You laugh to yourself, and after taking a moment to compose yourself, make for your own room to pack up a few things. 

A couple of bells later finds you strolling hand in hand through the markets laying in supplies for lunch and dinner, considering how bare your cupboards are like to be. At first you’d wished you’d done this bit in advance, that you’d have at least checked up on the place before inviting him over. But there’s something sweet and a bit romantic about shopping together for what you both like to eat, about the intimacy of allowing him to see where you live when it’s not at its best. Aside from all that, he looks so happy, although he is clearly nervous. You’re nervous as well though, so hopefully it balances out. 

“Here we are,” you say later, spreading your arms to indicate your charmingly weedy yard and humble abode. He laughs, eyes you with mock suspicion. 

“Are you sure you didn’t just call me here to help you with chores?” he asks, tail swatting at the back of your knees.

“Come to think,” you say as you unlock the door, and he gives a chuff.

“Might have known.” He hovers in the doorway for a moment as you enter, bright green eyes flicking about to take in your little kitchen and the dining table (which thankfully already has four chairs), the modest sofa and bookshelves. There is an unfortunate layer of dust on everything, but you were expecting that. At least it’s relatively tidy, with only a few tomes left strewn about. 

“Are you okay?” you ask quietly as he continues to linger, and he comes back to himself with a start, steps in hastily and closes the door. 

“Ah, yes, I’m fine, sorry,” he says, and fidgets with his arms for a bit before he realizes what he’s doing and forces them down to his sides. “It’s just...it’s been a while since I’ve been to someone’s home. Well, there’s the Rising Stones, but that’s not exactly…” He stops with a wince, looks to you apologetically. After much discussion he’s finally accepted a role as a Scion, but he’s still not comfortable with it, and to find that he doesn’t quite feel at home in his own quarters at the Stones makes your heart ache. You cast your eyes about your house, and realize that right now as it stands, it is only yours. More than just adding their names to the title, there is going to be quite a period of adjustment before either one of your loves will be able to view it as a space belonging to all of you. 

“That’s okay,” you say quietly, and open your mouth to ask him to sit down with you, but he is already moving past you into the kitchen with the shopping, where he heaps the groceries unceremoniously onto the counter. 

“Guess we’d better get to cleaning then,” he says, clapping his hands with purpose, and you realize that he’s trying to find something constructive to do, that he needs a little time to get used to this before he’s ready to talk. 

“Really though Raha, I didn’t bring you here to do the cleaning,” you feel obligated to say, just in case. “I haven’t even shown you around yet.” 

“Oh, right! Of course. Well, that first, and then cleaning.” You’d meant well, but nervous as he is when you take him outside to show him the garden, the little hot spring in the back, the washroom with the laid in bath (which you set to circulating, probably best to get some clean water going through the pipes), you wonder if you should have just let him start cleaning. You ponder to yourself if you should refrain from showing him the bedroom, but it would be very obvious that you left it out, so you just open the door and indicate where you sleep without going inside, so that he doesn’t feel obligated to follow you. When you turn around to look at him again, he is so clearly flustered and verging on upset that you reach out to take his hands. He takes a breath, gives your fingers a squeeze. 

“I think I...I think I need a moment,” he says shakily. “Forgive me, do you mind if I go sit outside for a bit?” 

“Not at all,” you say gently, and he practically flees for the door. You watch anxiously through the window as he plops down under the trees and presses his back against the fence, buries his face in his hands. 

This...is not going how you’d hoped or anticipated. You move away from the window to give him some privacy, and after some consideration, head to run a dust cloth over the washroom, change out the sheets on your bed. The way things are going, he probably won’t be using either, and if he did really want to help you with the cleaning, the kitchen and living room are safer options. After that, you brew some tea, set up a tray, and move to look out the window again. His posture is slightly more relaxed as he stares up toward the sky, clearly in thought...perhaps it’s safe to at least bring him something to drink. After some thought you add a cup to the tray for yourself as well--you can always bring it back in if he needs more time. 

He looks to you as you approach, gives you an abashed nod of greeting, not quite meeting your eyes as you kneel down to set the tea tray to the side. 

“I brought you something to drink, if you like,” you say, stating the obvious as a neutral opening to conversation, taking a steadying breath as you notice tear tracks on his cheeks.

“Aye, my thanks,” he says, voice a bit hoarse, and takes the teacup from you, sets it aside after an appreciative sip. Just as you’re about to ask if he needs a little longer, he speaks up, ears half drooped. “Forgive me, running off like that. I didn’t mean...I didn’t expect to…” He makes a sound of frustration, rubs at his face. 

“Is it alright if I sit down?” you ask, and he nods. You take a seat next to him, allow your shoulders to bump together...and to your surprise, he turns to offer you a bunt ending with a nuzzle, so you press a little closer to his side, take one of his hands in yours. 

“Can you talk to me about this?” you ask, and he makes a low noise in his throat. 

“I’ve never...I’ve never felt welcome in what you might call a ‘home’,” he admits quietly, sitting up to take your hand in both of his and stare pensively into his lap. “My family, we weren’t close---I was quite the burden on my mother, for reasons I’d rather not get into...all my life, I just wanted to leave, and then I did! Went to Val, studied a lot, made a good friend in Krile...even there though, I was always planning how to leave, how to get to the Tower. And then I did that too! And as you well know, I kept to myself a lot at the Find, only had my tent to myself maybe a week or so before you came along and they put you in there with me. That, with you…” He pauses, swallows. “They say home is where the heart is, and that’s probably the closest I ever came in my life to having one, and it was a source of daily heartbreak to know I couldn’t stay, I couldn’t keep it, I had to...I had other callings. But still, I had the audacity to...at the time, I also wanted...I couldn’t help imagining…” 

His voice breaks, and you blink back tears as he pulls one hand away to cover his eyes. “I’m the one that broke that, I’m the one who’s forced myself out of every welcoming space I’ve ever come upon. To see this now, your house that I know you want to belong to the three of us, to know how you feel about him, and me, and how well he’s done while I’ve ruined nearly every relationship I’ve ever touched up until now, I...I’m sorry, this is terrifying, I’ve been so afraid,” he admits, voice cracking again as he pulls up his knees and hunches in on himself, clasping your hand tightly as you struggle for what to say. “But I won’t ruin it, not this time,” he grinds out, blinking away tears as he turns his head to face you with pinned ears, eyes narrow and fierce. “If he can make a home of the Tower, of an entire city, Azeyma help me, I can find the courage to believe that there’s a place for my heart to rest as well. If...if my judgement is correct that is, if that’s what you want,” he falters, rubbing a thumb against your palm as he looks away. 

Overwhelmed, you reach out to hold him, pull him close as he rests his forehead on your shoulder. 

“Of course that’s what I want,” you whisper against a soft red ear, and he gives a tremulous exclamation of relief. When he lifts his head again a weak smile is playing at his lips, and he’s looking at you with wonder, as though he’s only just realized in truth how much you want him, that you truly wish to share a home with him, no matter the trials. And then, your eyes widen as he leans forward and presses soft, full lips against yours in a chaste kiss. 

Finally, oh, finally. 

He pulls back, eyes searching your face anxiously. “Was that okay?” he whispers, and you nod, tangle your fingers in short red hair as you lean in for more. The kisses are sweet, soft, and lingering, and you can feel his heart hammering along with yours where your chests are pressed together. 

“I’ve wanted you,” he murmurs against your lips, kissing you again and again. “I’ve wanted you, for so long, but I couldn’t…”

“I’ve wanted you too,” you whisper, unable to manage more before he presses his lips to yours once more. Every once in a while you pull away just long enough to look into his beautiful viridian eyes, and then one of you moves forward again. Oh gods, how long you’ve pined for this, how long you’ve waited, and that you’re in your overgrown front yard with the neighbors likely watching, you don’t care. Let everyone see how much you love him, how lucky you are. 

“It doesn’t...it doesn’t have to be here,” you say breathlessly, when at last you pull apart for longer than a few seconds.. “If...if you want, we can build a new home together, the three of us.” He pulls you in for another kiss before shaking his head.

“No,” he says firmly. “No, I need it to be this house. I need to know that I came here and saw the place that welcomed me, and did my part to make it my own with the people I love.” You stare at him, brush your thumbs over his freckled cheeks, move in to kiss him again before resting your head against his shoulder.

“Alright, I think we can manage that,” you whisper. It’s going to be a challenge, but if he’s willing to give it his all, so are you, and you know your elder love is like to do his part and more. You smile and snuggle closer, your heart alight with the confident, elysian understanding that this place will one day come to be home to the three of you after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing as how satisfying the end of 5.3 was, I don't think there's really any use for my Two of Them AU anymore, but it was fun to write. This is eventually going to be continued, either here or elsewhere as a third part to the Two of Them series...what I wanted to write was way too much for my limited time in a 24 hour time period XD
> 
> You can hmu @syrcusgardens on twitter if you like!


	21. Foibles--(WoL/G'raha, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot to be said for the charm of adjusting to domestic life together--including how to live with one another's little foibles.

“Raha, are you ready to--” 

His question was abruptly lost in startlement as he turned the corner from the bottom of the stairs right into an impressive stack of tomes, which in turn fell over on the tea table and knocked the crockery to the floor in a terrific crash of shattering porcelain. Evi’a froze as he surveyed the damage, and pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, his love nowhere to be seen.

For all he should have known as much considering the constant state of the Umbilicus, it still came as a shock to discover that his dear Raha was an absolute mess to live with. Evi’a had never realized how much he appreciated neatness and order in his home until he didn’t have it anymore, and was spending an increasing amount of time each day washing piled up dishes, tidying tomes left strewn all over the floor, and picking up discarded clothes thrown haphazardly over every surface they had. They’d spoken about this a week or so back, when the Keeper finally felt obliged to mention that they had shelves and clothes hangers for a reason, and his love had promised to try to be at least a bit more tidy. 

He looked up as the door opened to admit the smaller miqo’te, holding a watering can and looking rather fetching in a straw gardening hat. G’raha’s smile faded to an expression of chagrin as he took in the mess, Evi’a’s raised eyebrows.

“Er...at least the teapot was empty?” the Seeker ventured. 

  
  


G’raha shifted groggily, squinted into the darkness as he tried to determine what had woken him. He felt oddly hot, and made a sound of frustration as he realized he had the beginnings of a headache. 

And then, his stomach gave a particularly loud rumble. Ah, this again. 

Grumbling internally, he got out of bed as quietly as he could manage so as not to wake his love and padded downstairs, raising the lights just enough to be able to see. He’d made a batch of pumpkin cookies for tea today that he was rather proud of--soft, with a consistency perfectly balanced between a chewy cookie and fluffy cake, and carefully spiced with a blend of cinnamon and nutmeg. The Keeper had loved them, and it always made him happy when Evi’a enjoyed his cooking. 

He frowned, distracted from his thoughts as the plate was not where he expected it to be in the cupboard. He’d gone to bed early while the bard remained downstairs to do some woodworking for a while, perhaps Evi’a had some as a midnight snack? He cast his eyes about the kitchen, then sighed to see the blue trimmed cookie plate washed and sitting in the drainer. 

He knew he couldn’t say much with the appetite he had these days, but his love was terrible about eating distractedly while he read or composed, or when he was at his woodworking bench. The Keeper was always apologetic afterwards, but for as many times as all of the cookies, cakes, or whatever the treat of the day happened to be went missing, G’raha was seriously beginning to consider finding a place in the house to hide his own stash of snacks.

_ Oh well _ , he thought with a sigh. Maybe he’d just peel himself an orange or two--Evi’a always made sure they were stocked in the cupboard, at least. No substitute for pumpkin cookies, but needs must. 

  
  


The Keeper sucked in a steadying breath as he flipped through the fancier coats and trousers in his closet, reached the end of the line and gave a groan of dismay. 

He loved the intimate domesticism of washing one another’s clothes, taking out the laundry together and hanging their things side by side, watching evidence of their joined lives fluttering in the wind as they sat curled up on the porch swing in the late summer air with an orange iced tea. 

That being said, his Raha hung clothes as though they were meant for a scarecrow and not for performances at the Mih Khetto, and there were peg marks up the back of all of his coats, and at off angles on every matching set of trousers. He’d been away for a few days last week to help his surrogate family with a trade dispute, and when he’d returned Raha had happily announced that he’d washed and aired out all their clothes and sheets in preparation for autumn. Evi’a had not thought about it at all beyond his gratefulness and how much he loved his thoughtful mate, but in retrospect he should have checked then, not a bell and a half before a performance. 

“Is everything okay? You’ve been in here a while,” the Seeker asked, poking his head into their walk-in closet. “I changed out your clarinet reed for you, by the way.”

“Ah, my thanks,” he said with a smile, and he meant it. “I was just...choosing what to wear.” He didn’t have the heart to complain, and anyway, Raha would be singing beside him tonight...there was no way people were going to notice a few stray peg marks. 

  
  


Giggling sounded behind him as a group of young miqo’te girls passed, and G’raha tried not to frown as he paid the shopkeep for the day’s groceries. That had been the third time today that the eyes of strangers darted to him and then away with a snicker, and he was beginning to wonder what was amiss that he was not noticing. 

Once he’d gotten home and deposited the shopping on the counter, he dashed upstairs to examine himself in the full length mirror. At first he couldn’t see anything awry, but when he turned to awkwardly inspect his back, he sighed. 

Absolutely covered in white fur. He might have known. 

Of course he himself shed, all miqo’te did, but Evi’a hailed from a mountain tribe, and in warmer weather...well, it was amazing the Keeper had any fur left on him, for all that it was all over the house. G’raha had never particularly minded shed fur, and never much had to worry about it when he was living together with Evi’a at the Crystarium...the Tower had a way of taking care of that kind of thing. Not so however Evi’a’s house--there were silvery furballs in every corner, all over their sheets, clogging the bath drain, and, as he’d apparently forgotten before he went to run errands, coating their sofa. 

Sure enough, when he went downstairs, there was a clean spot on the couch in the shape of his arse. 

He knew the Keeper couldn’t help it, but they were really going to have to do something about this. Evi’a seemed perfectly content to live with it and do a mass cleaning once he finished shedding, and for someone who squawked about his clothes being hung and folded just so, he had no qualms about half-heartedly running a lint roller over himself before going out. 

Perhaps G’raha could convince him to use the roller on the rest of the house. 

  
  


“I’m home,” Evi’a called cheerfully, taking in the lovely smells of baked salmon and sauteed vegetables as he toed off his boots absently in the doorway. 

“Welcome back,” his love said brightly from the floor, and it took him a moment to register where the voice was coming from behind the mountains of tomes--which began to sway precariously as the top of a red head cleared the stacks.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, “I’ll come to you.” It was a challenge to pick his way across their living room, and as he tiptoed he winced to see their laundry thrown in a wrinkled heap over the arm of the sofa, the absolute wreck of their kitchen. He had no room to speak, however. The floors and furniture were suspiciously clean..no doubt Raha had gotten fed up about his fur again. He blinked as he rounded the wall of tomes to find his love sitting cross-legged on a picnic blanket, their dinner laid out along with two glasses of wine and a lovely aetherial candelabra. 

“I knew you were coming home soon, and I thought, I either had time to clean or to make dinner, but not both, so here we are,” the Seeker said with an abashed grin. Evi’a’s heart gave a fluttery little swoop as he looked down on his love’s beautiful face in the candlelight, surrounded in trappings that were so  _ him _ , so much a vital part of their home and their shared life, so indicative of his eager curiosity, his ever-thoughtful and loving soul. 

“I love you, you’re the best,” he said ardently, falling into a crouch to brush a kiss across his mate’s freckled cheek. The Seeker chuffed, squinted at him playfully. 

“I’d meant for us to have the rest of the apple pie after, but it seems it’s all gone,” he chided, and Evi’a gave a guilty smile. 

“Yeah, sorry about that...I bought your favorite chestnut tart to make up for it though,” he said, laughing at how his love’s ears instantly perked as the box was set in his lap. “And brought you these,” he said with a grin, rummaging in his side pack and producing a pair of musty tomes on rift dynamics. “From the Gubal, thought you might appreciate them for your research.” 

“Oh, my dear sun!” G’raha cried, taking them with glee, and Evi’a had to quickly adjust his balance and grab a lashing red tail so as not to knock down their temporary dining room when the Seeker practically bounced into his lap. “These are exactly the titles I wanted,” his love crowed, then set the tomes down reverently and tipped his head up for a kiss, which Evi’a happily returned, wrapping his tail around his love’s thigh to keep his own enthusiastic lashing in check. Maybe he was getting fur all over his love, but he suspected the Seeker did not care. 

Besides, discovering and adjusting to one another’s foibles was a precious factor of any long-lasting relationship, and neither one of them would trade this beautiful sum of their experiences for anything. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna HC that the Tower does not like having shed cat fur everywhere and quietly subspaces the offending fluff as soon as it falls XD
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	22. Argy-bargy--(WoL & ARR G'raha, M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evi'a goes out to look for G'raha when he doesn't return to the Find in a timely manner, and gets a lot more than he bargained for. 
> 
> A bit of canon-typical violence in this one.

Evi’a slowed as he approached the Seventh Heaven, still conflicted as to his current task. Of late Raha was often away from the Find looking for work to pay his board, even though it had been clearly conveyed to him over and over again that he need not trouble himself. Since they’d received news of the fall of Val just a fortnight past, Raha had withdrawn on himself even more than usual. After their initial talk the day after they had hardly spoken since, and with them sharing a tent, it was more than a little awkward. Still, Evi’a understood that the man was grieving, that he needed time and some space to himself for a bit, and the Keeper was doing his best to gracefully accommodate. At least he could take some comfort in knowing that he was welcome. More than once Raha had quietly come to sit beside him and read, once going so far as to lean against his back with a tome while Evi’a was doing maintenance work on his bow. 

But the Seeker’s reticence, the increased frequency of his distant, troubled expressions, the way he was so weary and yet never quite seemed to sleep...these were all growing causes for concern, and Evi’a couldn’t blame Rammbroes sending him to check up on how the younger man was doing. Raha had been away all day in Mor Dhona on some job, and as the sun began to set he had yet to return. 

Luckily the scholar was not difficult to find—male miqo’te were something of a rarity after all, and his face was known in Mor Dhona. With just a few questions asked he was directed to the Seventh Heaven, where G’raha had entered perhaps a quarter bell prior. Well, if the scholar asked, he could always claim to just be passing through on his way to the Rising Stones. 

As quietly as he could manage, he sidled into the dim bar and shut the door behind him. The establishment was fairly busy with tradesmen in for an ale after work, and he had to stand on his tiptoes to scan for his quarry. His ears pricked at the sound of a familiar dulcet voice, and he craned his head around a towering elezen to find his erstwhile tent mate in what appeared to be a heated conversation with a roegadyn and a highlander man.

“Once again, that is  _ not _ the nature of employment that I signed up for, and so I will not be joining you. I warn you, if you persist I shall be quite cross,” the Seeker said, drawing himself up imperiously and looking down his nose at his considerably larger would-be employers.  _ He certainly has that down, _ Evi’a mused to himself, and though he had to wonder at the sense of it, G’raha had always been able to take care of himself. So he stayed where he was but kept the scholar in sight, willing himself not to intervene unless absolutely necessary. 

Sure enough, the roegadyn snickered with disbelief. 

“Little thing thinks he’s gonna say no now? We have a contract, and it’ll be a whole lot easier on you if you walk out of here nice and quiet-like with us,” he said, leaning down to leer into the miqo’te’s face. When the man’s hand darted out with surprising speed to engulf the whole of the Seeker’s lower arm in an iron grip, Evi’a coiled his stance in preparation to charge, but not yet, not yet.

“I’ll thank you to unhand me, and things will go a lot easier on  _ you _ ,” G’raha purred, eyes narrowed to slits, tail lashing behind him. 

Evi’a tensed as the highlander laughed and reached for the scholar’s other arm. Then, with a quicksilver, sinuous movement so fast that the Keeper could barely follow, G’raha pulled his captive arm free and whipped out his precious crossbow with the other, leveling it smooth and square at the roegadyn’s face. 

“I am a proud son of Ilsabard, and I will not bend to the likes of you!” the scholar declared, eyes hard as steel. “I  _ will _ shoot you,” he added on quietly as the chatter in the bar died away into silence. Evi’a stood wide-eyed at the sheer moxy, stunned as much as the rest of the patrons. There was a long, tense moment in which the ruffians and the miqo’te stared daggers at one another…and then the highlander had the audacity to lean forward and nudge the loaded bolt to the side with his index finger. G’raha backed up against the bar, and Evi’a realized with a sinking heart that he was shaking, and the way his ears were beginning to pin…

He swore, began pushing his way forward through the crowd. 

“Would that be the same Ilsabard that lost its stones to the empire?” the highlander asked quietly, right in the scholar’s face.

The bolt flew, and the churl fell back with a howl, clenching at his right cheek, blood spilling through his fingers.

All hell broke loose. Amid the shouting and screaming and people running for the door, fights began to break out, and Evi’a had to scramble to get to G’raha as the roegadyn began to rise from aiding his injured companion. 

“No,no,no!” he said hastily, swatting away the bolt the Seeker was trying to reload. 

“Get out, all of you, out!” the proprietor was shouting over the din, and Evi’a finally had to grab G’raha by the wrist himself and drag him up to stand to get him to come to his senses. The Seeker blinked as though he only just registered the general chaos, and this time they worked together to shove their way out the door, both of them breaking into a sprint for the Find. 

Once they’d cleared the gates and gotten a half malm or so free of the settlement, they fell to a trot and finally stopped, hands on their knees as they both gasped for breath. Evi’a was no stranger to running long distances, but he wasn’t accustomed to making this sort of getaway from a place he knew well. Gods, he couldn’t imagine what the Scions would say when they found he fled the scene...he was definitely going to have to volunteer to pay for some of the damage, preferably without G’raha finding out. The Seeker hardly had a gil to his name these days, and he certainly didn’t need to be indebted by a bar fight. 

He looked up from his thoughts when he realized the scholar was laughing, cackling madly to himself as he caught his breath.

“Did you...did you see...their faces when I pulled the crossbow?” he laughed between breaths, swiping tears away from his eyes. “Ah, seven hells, it’s been a while,” he said, looking more alive than Evi’a had seen him in weeks...until he suddenly fell to sit cross-legged with his head in his hands. “Rammbroes is going to kill me. Sweet Azeyma, how am I going to find work now?” he muttered, clenching at his hair, shoulders shaking. 

The Keeper knew the signs of a man coming off a bad adrenaline rush when he saw it, and quietly moved to sit next to the scholar on the side of the road until the man could calm down. 

“Did Rammbroes send you?” the Seeker eventually asked in a low voice, not looking at him.

“...He did,” Evi’a said uncomfortably, but he wasn’t going to lie. “He’s worried about you, and he’s not the only one.” 

The Seeker’s ears drooped.

“I see,” was all he said. The silence stretched. 

“Were you looking for work?” Evi’a ventured, trying to get at least something out of his friend. 

“Aye. Have to pay my keep,” he said quietly. Evi’a knew better than to retread the old argument that working as a researcher at the Find was enough. “Did some deliveries earlier in the day, evening job was supposed to be working a warehouse, asked for a miqo’te male specifically, to aid a roegadyn team in some matters of particular sensitivity.” Evi’a winced--that sounded shady as all hells, but probably better to keep that to himself. 

“I thought maybe they needed someone nimble and fast, you know, who could get to high places,” G’raha said,sounding half angry and half miserable. “I...I’ve been really tired, and I wasn’t thinking.” Evi’a looked to the Seeker with surprise, touched by the admission. G’raha shifted under his gaze. “I’m...I’m sorry I’ve been such a bother,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean for things to turn out like this. I wanted...well. It doesn’t really matter now.” The Keeper took in his friend’s lowered ears and slumped shoulders, heart aching.

“Why don’t you just take some leves at the Find, if you’re that desperate?” he suggested. “Much closer to home, and you don’t have to deal with taking odd jobs from employers of perhaps less than decent repute.” 

The Seeker gave a chuff of dismissal. 

“That’s all I want, is for everyone to see me going to the levemete with my hat in my hands, everyone looking at me and pitying me because of Val...I’d really rather not.”

“What if we went together?” Evi’a offered. The Seeker turned to look at him, happy surprise dancing across his eyes for a moment before it faded again into melancholy. 

“You don’t need my help with leves, don’t patronize me,” he mumbled, leaning forward to rest his chin on his knees. 

“No, but if there are two of us, we can take six between us instead of having to go out for three and then come back for more. In theory we ought to get more done, and quickly at that, if we work together.” 

The Seeker looked to him again, squinting a bit as if searching for the catch, the pity, the shallow sympathy. 

“I...suppose that makes sense,” he granted at last. “Do you actually need the money?”

“I’m saving for a house in Gridania,” the Keeper answered, and G’raha nodded. 

“Let me...let me think about it,” he said, and Evi’a nodded in response, happy to just be considered. “And, er...thank you. For letting me try to handle things on my own, for coming to get me,” he murmured, a blush rising to his cheeks as he looked away once more. The Keeper smiled.

“Anytime.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was super tired when I wrote this, hopefully it's coherent. One of Evi'a's many run-ins with G'raha's beloved crossbow.
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you want!


	23. Shuffle--(Exarch & baby Lyna, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week into his new role as a (grand)father, the Exarch reflects on his reasons for adopting a child. 

A thin little cry sounded behind him, and the Exarch was out of his chair and halfway across the room before he fully registered what he was doing.

“Come now, little one, what’s wrong?” he murmured, gathering up the infant in his arms and cradling her close. He no longer had a heartbeat, but the sound of his breathing usually calmed her. She fretted a bit longer, tiny hands bunched into fists as she beat at the air, then finally gave over to quiet, peering studiously up at him. He leaned down to bunt at her forehead, winced as little claws grasped at his ears. Once she released him, he gently turned her around to rest her head on his shoulder, her white, fluffy shock of hair tickling at his neck, long ears twitching at his cheek. She gave a whimper, and he patted her back.

“Let’s just walk for a bit, shall we?” he asked, and began treading the same circle around the Umbilicus as he’d done for the last week since he’d suddenly become a father. _Grandfather_ , he amended to himself halfheartedly. 

She shouldn’t have been awake—she’d already been changed, and he’d given her a bottle just before he put her down. But then, he couldn’t blame her for her uncertainty. He didn’t smell like her recently lost parents, didn’t have the right sort of milk to feed her, was clearly short on confidence when it came to handling her. Every off noise, every little cry and snuffle had him dashing for her cradle to look her over. Luckily he didn’t need much sleep, but the stress of worrying about her and trying to complete his work in the short spans of her rest were beginning to take their toll, and he knew it was only a matter of time before someone foisted some noxious concoction of a tonic on him.

He hadn’t missed the raised eyebrows and dubious expressions of those present when he’d requested to take her, and though he’d spoken with confidence at the time, he was still pondering on the deeper motives behind the decision he’d made in the passion of the moment because it felt like the right thing to do.

She was far from the first child to be orphaned by the eaters, even among those who fell defending the steadily growing settlement forming at the base of the Tower. True, her parents were killed in battle because he’d failed to raise his new aetherial shields in time, but as much as he dearly wished he’d managed to employ his defenses more skillfully, he was certain he had not taken her out of guilt—that was no mindset in which to raise a child. 

Perhaps it had something more to do with the loss in the Guards’ eyes when they brought her in—not just for their fallen comrades, but also for having no idea what to do with her. Viis were seldom if ever seen beyond the borders of the Greatwood, and her people did not suffer outsiders to step foot within Rak’tika proper. As it were, food was in short supply, and there were already children waiting for families in the settlement’s makeshift orphanage--children that people knew how to raise, who were not outcasts from birth. In that moment, watching his soldiers uncomfortably discussing her fate as she squalled in their arms, he’d felt a profound and unexpected kinship with the babe. 

How many times had he hidden behind his mother’s skirts as a boy, already ill-favored for being the son of a wandering Tia, as the elders shook their heads and spoke of his unfortunate eye with consternation and disapproval? How many times had he been told that his visions were a sickness, heard it muttered in whispers as he passed that he was like to go mad? How often had he swallowed back his own tears for realization that he had no playmates, and likely never would, seeing as how he was both illegitimate and cursed? His mother lifted her chin high and proud during the day, but in the still hours of the night he could hear her weeping quietly next to him in their bed for all they both suffered. 

He never wanted this innocent little girl to suffer as he had for being an outcast, for looking different, for having an unknown element to her background. 

She squirmed in his arms, drawing him out of his thoughts, and just as he began to bounce her against him, she spat up copiously all over his shoulder. 

Ah, he’d forgotten to burp her after she’d been fed, and he’d also forgotten to drape the towel over himself before picking her up. He pinned his ears with apologetic chagrin as he swapped her to the other side, gently cleaned her face and the worst of the mess from his robes. The hume milk being supplied by her wetnurse wasn’t taking very well, and she tended to lose half of whatever she ate, the dear little soul. 

“Grandfather’s sorry, Lyna, he’ll do better next time. Perhaps we’ll see about trying some different milk,” he whispered, rocking her and smoothing her ears down in comfort. 

Her woes solved for the moment, she yawned, and he watched with a full heart as she finally closed her eyes, lips forming a moue as if to suckle. Gently he laid her back in her cradle, and once he was satisfied that she was resting, he tugged his soiled outer robes over his head and set them aside. Then, he sat down to take a moment to watch as she slept, reached out to rest a palm on her tiny back and revel in the warmth of a small, defiant life. 

As a younger man he’d held nebulous, far off notions that someday when his duty was done, he’d settle down, perhaps have a child of his own. That he’d fallen in love with a man didn’t really change those distant dreams--if he really reached deep into his well of bittersweet fantasies, he’d thought he and his inspiration could adopt someday, supposing they were ever granted a life together. Now that was all undone, and he was nearing forty years of age. Had he the natural, somewhat abbreviated lifespan of his people, he would have almost certainly been a father by now, but as the Crystal Exarch…

He would never admit it to anyone, but after all this time and all he’d been through, to look in the mirror and see the face of a man yet in his mid-twenties wore on his soul in a way that he never could have expected. The framework of his life had come apart, to be replaced with the anxious anticipation of long swathes of conflicted years ahead in which the people around him grew old and died while he alone remained, willingly fettered to his duty. He’d accepted this as his lot, but the more the years passed by, the more alienated he felt, a foreign entity set apart from their hopes and dreams, their day to day lives, even as they looked to him to govern them. 

Not only was he losing touch with them, he was losing touch with himself, with what he had become and was yet transforming into as the crystal continued to steadily climb his right arm and crack the smooth planes of his visage.The more he presided over the weddings of his soldiers, gave his blessings to newborns in the Pendants, listened to stories of troublesome in-laws and mischievous children, the more he longed for stories of his own to tell, and despaired that he should never have them. As much as he knew he’d inflicted his isolation and his otherworldly condition upon himself, he was beginning to appreciate that he could not face the long years ahead without a meaningful connection to another soul to ground him, to make him remember on a personal level what it was that he was fighting for, to help him recall that for all that had been done to his soul, he was a man as much as anyone else who yearned to love and be loved in return. 

In short, it was time for a change, time to take some initiative for his own well-being and shuffle the cards of his life such as he could--and hopefully deal himself a better hand than the one he’d sat on for the last fourteen years. 

Much as he wished otherwise, he knew there were selfish and lacking elements to his motives. For one, he was guiltily pleased that as Viis, she would live an exceedingly long life, and as such he would be granted the comfort of her company as his own years stretched on. For another, he was upset with his own inadequacy, that he had not the confidence to name himself her father, for all that he intended to serve in that role. There was just too much about his own nature that he did not understand, and he and the Tower could disappear without warning at any moment. And who was to say what he would become with the passing years for his bond with the Allag structure, his heart already given up and his body steadily transmogrifying into something _other_? If their familial connection should ever come to reflect poorly on her, he would never be able to bear it. No, far better to love her as well as he might, but save her from the pain of what he was in any way possible. So, grandfather it was, even though he half felt a coward for his decision. 

He could only hope she would forgive him. 

He gave a faint smile, brought out of his melancholy as he concentrated on her strong heartbeat against his hand. On a less complicated level, he just wanted this, the comforting warmth of a simple touch. How he looked forward to holding her hand as she learned how to walk, to her small frame leaning against him as he read a bedtime story, to patting her head when she’d done well, to hugging her should she need comfort. These little displays of affection were long missing in his life, but he would not let her go without. Whatever shortcomings he might have, he would always be sure that she knew that he loved her...and hopefully, in the end, that would be enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think in the moment Raha didn't consider very much when he spoke up to adopt Lyna, but actually he'd been leading up to a decision of that nature for a while as he considered the direction in which his life was heading. 
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	24. Beam--(Aymeric & Haurchefant, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting in St. Reymanaud's Cathedral between two young knights with like backgrounds and like cause. 

There was a time when he might have lingered outside the gilded doors of their manor, brooding as he watched his stepmother’s guests proceed within to join the party that made him even more unwelcome in his own home than usual. Perhaps Francel would have made an appearance with nicked cakes and a flute of sparkling rolanberry punch to pass between them, and they would have scurried off to the stables to enjoy themselves in peace. 

However, at twelve years of age Francel was now too old to be forgiven disappearing at parties, much less returning to the high society function smelling of chocobos and hay. And as for himself, he’d proven his worth late last year with a pocket knife and an arrow to the arm—though he believed he had plenty of worth well before he saved Francel from the bandits—and was now officially in training to become a knight. 

As gratified as he was to actually be in consideration to take on the Fortemps’ longstanding responsibility for Camp Dragonhead, his heart was still scored with bitterness that no matter how hard he trained as a knight, this would always be the only option open to him. Of course it was an honor to serve and protect Ishgard in an official capacity, but there was an element to the position of being put aside, stationed outside the city where he wouldn’t drag the knighthood down with the circumstances of his less than honorable birth. 

He also wasn’t sure how he felt about his new comrades in arms patting him on the back for his future station when, as the second son, it would have been passed to him without question were he not a bastard. On the other hand, he also believed that stations should not be inherited. Had he not been deemed ‘worthy’, Emmanelain would have assumed the role of Commander and was like to run the place into the ground.

And so his conflicted thoughts found him in the Congregation courtyard, practicing his forms in the late summer snow on his day of leave. Others were about but did not join him, and he could understand--for the most part, these noble-blooded squires had been raised to disdain outsiders. He was determined however to be friendly and persistent, and in time, it was his belief that he would win some of them over, that he could make them think on their preconceived notions...that he could be part of the change he wanted to see in Ishgard.

Today however he was in a strange mood, and not feeling particularly successful at faking buoyancy. So it was that he elected to put away his sword before the shift swapped for evening patrols and he was required by his own personal standards to attempt cheerful sociability. 

Perhaps his fighting spirit was in need of a boost. Whereas his usual steps toward righting his melancholy had failed him, perhaps the Fury would not. 

  
  


Aymeric smiled faintly to himself as he looked to the house where his elderly caretakers were most likely settling in for an early dinner, nodded as he passed even though there was no one about to see. He did feel a bit guilty about not calling on them, but they would understand...they had always supported his ambitions, always believed he would make a fine knight, and pulled such strings as were available to them to see that he had the chance. Although, quite possibly their kindness would have been for naught had he not been the bastard son of Thordan. Though his father seemed quite indifferent about his forays into knighthood, the commanders knew whose child he was, feared denying him at least a chance to prove himself in the profession he’d set his heart on for his whole life. 

That he was unable to make his beginnings based on his own merits alone had always galled him, though he knew advancement via powerful connections was the way of the world. At this point he’d trained as a knight for six years, and more and more he could see in truth that the people of the city had no voices of their own. That compared to the other city states of Eorzea, Foundation was especially at the mercy of the moneyed nobility and beholden to a plodding conservatism rendered ever more xenophobic in the aftermath of the Calamity--and that fear was exacerbated by the machinations of his father’s church. 

He sighed, his heart troubled as he continued on. The naive fervor, the love he’d held for Foundation...they were maturing and shifting into something harder, an inclination more brazenly critical, his dissatisfaction when he looked upon the city pointing him down a path that yet remained shrouded. Something in particular was rotting and foul at the center of their society, a malaise that was causing the people of Halone to lose their will to fight even as they cowered and offered ever more fervent prayers to the goddess of war.

But Fury be damned if he were to lose his own determination now to this dogged uncertainty, these uncomfortable realizations that kept him awake at night. Looking upon Her statue tended to right his priorities when he began to doubt his own heart, which was why he now found himself pushing open the doors to the inner sanctum and striding down the central aisle of pews in the late hours of the afternoon to gaze upon Her might. 

He took a moment to gaze upon Her countenance, ever looking forward, ever ready for battle, sword and shield in hand. As ever, he felt the statue out of place in such a quiet, dark place, overseeing naught but the stone wall ahead. Still, even in this prison of a hall, She was unbent, unbroken, ever prepared, ever rising to face the challenges before Her. He closed his eyes, took a breath, knelt down to offer a brief prayer that he might continue to follow in Her stalwart example. And then he rose, planning to leave as quickly as he came. For all he loved the Fury, he did not care to linger here, trapped within these walls and well aware that he was likely perceived as a blight on the honor of Ishgard by the few worshippers in attendance. 

Yet as he turned to go, a familiar face caught his eye, and his eyebrows raised to see the young bastard son of House Fortemps seated on the front pew, hands steepled in his lap as he looked pensively upward toward their mutual goddess.

Aymeric frowned as he looked upon the man, rattled by his own thinking. That he’d thought of Haurchefant first as the bastard son of a noble, and not as a companion in arms with whom he shared like cause made him question his own perceptions. Was he himself also so steeped in Ishgardian preconceptions that the first categorization that came to mind was of the man’s birth, his social status? Perhaps the unfortunate labeling was in part due to a sudden guilty pleased recognition that they were alike in their struggles, though that was not much better. 

He inclined his head with a smile of recognition as the younger knight finally looked to him, wondering at the sudden brightening of the man’s face. They’d not much occasion to speak to one another--Aymeric was years ahead in his training, and Haurchefant was clearly set upon the path of assuming leadership of Camp Dragonhead one day. Perhaps the knight was also lifted a bit by the knowledge that he was not alone in striving for a better Ishgard regardless of the circumstances of his birth?

Still, he was a bit surprised when Haurchefant rose and moved to stand by his side, an outgoing grin on his face despite their unwelcoming and gloomy surroundings. 

“Well met, Ser,” the younger knight whispered, and he answered in kind, suddenly wishing he’d taken upon himself to talk to Haurchefaunt a bit more at the Congregation. Generally there was no cause for them to do so, and he hadn’t wanted to make more problems for them both than they already had. That the man would come and speak to him so casually, especially in a place like this, was quite refreshing. 

“Come to seek the solace of Halone?” Aymeric whispered genially, and Haurchefant gave a puff of laughter. 

“The Fury was never a goddess to inspire calm. No, I’m here for much the same reasons as you are, I imagine--that she might see fit to bolster my sword and shield, that I might find the courage to fight for what I believe in.” Aymeric blinked, surprised with the straightforward admission and recognition of like minds. 

“Yes, that sounds about right,” he whispered back with a smile, well aware that this was an inappropriate place to be holding a conversation and feeling rather dangerously rebellious for it. “Though I do wonder at myself sometimes, coming to a place like this for encouragement,” he breathed, keeping his voice as low as possible. Haurchefant smiled again and shrugged. 

“The Fury is not contained in these walls, nor by this city,” he declared, probably louder than he should have. They looked at each other at length, and finally Aymeric nodded. Something had just passed between them, something else that he would be pondering tonight, and he looked on the younger knight’s pensive face, the element of challenge in his eyes when he met Aymeric’s gaze once more. “The Fury is not your father,” Haurchefant whispered, so faint he almost didn’t hear it, which was probably for the best. Once again, a long look passed between them, and Aymeric was struck of a sudden by how good it would be to have a friend in this man, to go out for an ale together at the Forgotten Knight and hold forth about all their like struggles and misgivings. 

That was not possible in Ishgard as it stood, but one day, through their mutual efforts, it could be. 

“May we both find our courage by Her shining example, that the Light may ever guide our paths,” he finally said, and Haurchefant smiled once more. 

“Yes...but I think I’ll also appreciate that everyone has a little darkness in their pockets,” he replied enigmatically, sticking his thumbs in his own as he looked once more to the statue. Aymeric frowned, opened his mouth to question, but just as he made to speak a chance beam of sunlight filtered through the stained glass, washing them both in an array of ethereal color. 

“...It seems Halone shines down upon us after all,” he said instead with a bemused smile, and Haurchefant nodded, his own grin touching his eyes. 

“Aye, so it would seem, despite everything.” He watched as the younger knight examined his hands in the kaleidoscopic light, nodded with some unknown satisfaction, then looked back to him. “Let us both do our part in Her battle, shall we?” he said quietly. Then, with a brief incline of his head, he turned and made his way down the aisle and out of the sanctum. 

Aymeric watched the eccentric kindred soul as he departed, an odd sort of peace settling over his heart as he turned back to Halone, colored light dappling his form. 

“Yes, let us both do our part,” he said quietly. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leaving my comfort zone for a bit to write these two, ended up having almost no time to write it ;; I've always loved Haurchefant, absolutely shipped my WoL with him until, well, you know. Aymeric also is a compelling character, and it makes me sad that he's floated to the fringes of the MSQ the way he has. If my mind wasn't so full of catboys all the time I'd love to write both of them more. 
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	25. Wish--(G'raha and Lyna, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the occasion of G'raha Tia's one hundred and fiftieth name day, Lyna makes a request that she has waited a lifetime to voice. She also has a very special surprise in store.

“Are you certain he would wish for this?” Lyna asked uncertainly, clasping her hands in her lap. “After all, it’s his name day, and should he find this upsetting, or…” she trailed off, not quite sure what she wanted to say, wishing that Cymet were there to offer moral support and not quite remembering how she’d ever gone without. It felt ages since she’d begun her regular travels to Fanow, since she’d met the woman who softened her sharp edges, taught her to relax and to laugh more freely. 

“Lyna, his ears still perk when I call him by his name, and it’s been twenty-four years,” Evi’a said firmly, his tone touched with wonder that he should still be so dearly loved after all this time. “And this may be well-informed speculation on my part, but I think what you mean to say to him...he’s longed for it all his life. You must know it’s something he could never ask for, only something you might give.” 

She laughed, tears stinging at her eyes. “Oh, wicked white, look at me. If this contraption of yours works as it’s meant to, I’m probably just going to weep for the first half bell.”

“He will too, I’m sure, but it’ll be good for you both,” he answered, taking a sip of his tea and looking about the garden at the Tower base, bursting with flowers and delicate ivies climbing through latticed baubles. “You’ll have to show him what you’ve done with the place too, he’ll be so pleased to see your handiwork.” 

“I hope so...and I pray he likes the cloak as well, a good deal of time went into it, but I daresay in the wake of everything else it may become the least of his gifts.”

“It’s beautiful, Lyna, truly. He’s going to look amazing performing in it,” the Keeper said, patting the package containing the deep green cape that she had taken a year to painstakingly embroider around the edges with autumn foliage. “I daresay you’re outdoing yourself tremendously, good luck ever topping this one off.”

“Well, it  _ is _ his one hundred and fiftieth name day, it ought to be special,” she mused fondly, then took a sip of tea for courage, her cheeks coloring with what she was about to confide. “Actually...there is one other thing, something I haven’t spoken of in our exchange journals...” she ventured, looking away and then back to him with a tremulous smile. 

He listened intently as she spoke, his eyes growing wide, his silvery ears perking as high as she’d ever seen them go. 

“Ah...well. Yes. He is absolutely going to cry, and it’s going to be his best name day ever,” he fumbled, grinning like a fool. 

  
  


G’raha sniffled, dabbing at his eyes for what felt the hundredth time as he hugged his new cloak closer about his shoulders and looked upon the face of his dear little girl for the first time in nearly a quarter century. 

Cid had really outdone himself with this upsized, modified set of tomestones, and when he saw the man again he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to thank him enough. 

That she did not appear to have aged was unsurprising, but it filled his heart with warmth to see the easy gentleness around her eyes, the way she’d pulled back her hair as she had when she was small, the flowers she wore from the gardens she’d taken over. Seeing her smile, the sparkle in her eyes, he knew that the peace she wrote of in their journal was real and lasting, and not just bright words to appease his anxious heart. 

“Come now, you must...you must let me meet Cymet, I’ve heard so much about her, and her letters are always so lovely,” he managed in a watery voice, cheeks pained from grinning so much. Evi’a squeezed at his shoulders comfortingly, elegant fingers yet sure and strong from years of bending the bow and playing an ever growing collection of instruments. 

“I will, I will,” she laughed, swiping at her own eyes. “But before that, there...there’s something I should like to say to you,” she said quietly, raising her eyes to meet his with an uncharacteristic wobbling smile and a breath clearly taken for calm. 

“I’ll just go for a bit,” Evi’a said gently, bending down to bunt at ears that had about as much white as red fur these days. 

“No, I’d like you to be there too, there’s so much that I...it would please me to have you formally approve as well, if you don’t mind,” she said softly, and the Seeker looked between them both questioningly.

“Oh...o-of course,” his love said, surprised and humbled. “I would be honored.” 

Lyna smiled thoughtfully, looked away at something offscreen, then back to him. 

“I...have thought about this, for a great many years. What I might say, how I might put my love into words, and yet after decades of internal rehearsal I fear I have yet to come to a means that I find satisfying to convey what I wish, what I have always been afraid to ask.” He waited with bated breath, willing himself to patience, though his unruly tail thumped at the legs of the chair. What could it possibly be that she was so worried about, that she had not been able to confide in all these long years of correspondence? She opened her mouth to speak, shook her head, gave a huff of frustration. 

“I weary of my own indecisiveness, so I’ll just be out with it. You would do me a great honor if you might allow me to...to name you my father.”

He forgot how to breathe, lips parted and heart pounding as he stared into her proud, defiant face, dimly aware of his love squeezing his shoulders.

“Your father…” he said faintly, and her expression faltered.

“Well, in what way are you not my father?” she exclaimed passionately. “You gave me my name, raised me from a babe, guided and supported me through life, saw to my schooling, read to me each night, told me sweeping stories of the history of my people, we shared meals and laughter and grief and...and…” He reached out trembling fingers to touch the screen as she dashed the tears from her eyes. “I have always, always wondered why you shied away from having me as your own, though recently I’ve come to feel that perhaps you were as afraid to ask as I was,” she ended tremulously, clearly fighting for her bittersweet, anxious smile. “And if...if that’s the case, I want you to know I shall be proud to the end of all my long days to call you, G’raha Tia, my father.”

Overcome, he buried his face in his hands and wept. That she should have had such cause for insecurity, that in his troubled years as the Exarch he’d been too frightened to claim her, that she was asking him as the man and not as the caretaker, that even a world apart she loved him this much and wished him to hold such a profound role in her life...how his heart ached and sang.

“Lyna,” he choked through his tears. “Lyna, my dear Lyna.” He was brought back to himself a bit as an arm wrapped around his shoulders and a strong hand smoothed his ears back comfortingly. 

Sweet Azeyma, he had to answer her. 

“Oh Lyna,” he whispered, forcing himself to straighten and face her tear-streaked face, the pained worry in her eyes. “I was so...I always wanted...i-if you truly think…” he stammered, and she nodded, eyes flooding with tears all over again. “Then...then of course, that I should be so blessed...I can’t…” He gratefully accepted the dry handkerchief wordlessly passed to him by his love, wept once more alongside his remarkable little girl, who’d cared for him all this time in a way he’d been too afraid to claim all those years ago when he first held her in his arms. 

It was some while before they both managed to get a handle on themselves at the same time, their tears easing away into helpless spates of laughter. 

“Ah, this screen is incredible, and yet it vexes me so,” he said breathlessly, leaning down to bunt at the image of her face anyway. “How I wish I might embrace you now.” 

“And I you,” she murmured, and then they were quiet for a moment as they settled for pressing their palms together against their screens, stars apart. 

“I shall have to amend my thinking,” he said at length. “How wonderful and strange, to find myself no longer a grandfather, but a father!” She laughed, gave a curious incline of her head and opened her mouth to speak--then looked with surprise at something offscreen. 

He frowned and caught himself leaning to see what she was searching for, then bashfully righted himself when he remembered it didn’t work that way. 

“Wait, not yet, come back!” an exasperated voice cried, and his eyes widened as a small pair of long, russet ears cleared the edge of his screen. 

“Mum, mum, pick me up!” 

“Ah gods, I’m sorry Lyna, I took my eyes off her for one second and she came racing this way,” gasped a youthful-faced Viis with peach-brown hair as she came into view and collapsed against the back of Lyna’s chair. “Hello, G’raha Tia, ‘tis good to finally see you,” she added with a smile and a little wave.

Speechless, he raised his hand in a weak mutual greeting, heart fluttering madly. 

“Me too! I wan’ see too!” the little voice cried.

And with an affectionate huff, Lyna pulled a little blue-eyed Viis girl of perhaps three years into her lap. 

“Grandfather!” she cried, pointing at him and bouncing in his daughter’s lap. “Mum, Mama, look, he’s not crystal!” Cymet winced apologetically, ruffled the girl’s short, fluffy hair. “Sorry, we’ve been taking her up to see your...er...statue. She’s insisted on having her own garden up there, just like you...fear you’ll be overtaken with ivy soon if we don’t do something.”

“Father,” Lyna said with a smile of resignation, ruffling the girl’s hair in turn as she looked to his stunned face. “This is our daughter, Solmet. Cymet and I have been given leave by the elders of Fanow to raise her.” Evi’a gave a chuff of happiness behind him, but he had to swallow a few times before words would come. 

“My granddaughter?” he squeaked, which was hardly the loving congratulatory response he’d hoped for. 

“Yes, your granddaughter,” Lyna laughed, hugging the girl close. “And yours too, if you’ll have her,” she added, nodding toward Evi’a.

“Sweet Menphina,” his love whispered behind him, and he understood the sentiment fully. 

“Have you all been crying? Are you okay?” Solmet asked, looking from her mum to her family across the rift. 

“Yes, little one...we’re...we’re very well, in fact,” he said tremulously, mind threatening to blank with the joyful enormity of how much his family dynamics had shifted in the past half bell. 

She nodded, accepting his answer with the ease of the innocent.

“It’s your name day, right? Did you get presents?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned to look up at her parents. “Do I get presents, too?” 

“No,” Lyna chided, at the same as he said,

“Yes!” He nodded at his daughter’s raised eyebrows and questioning smile, ears perked so high they ached. “My little one, your grandfathers are going to send you so, so many presents.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking a lot about G'raha and Lyna lately, really love their relationship. And bless Cid for inventing interdimensional video chat <3
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	26. Alternate (Free Prompt)--(WoL/G'raha, Krile, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 25\. Alternate (free prompt); WoL/G'raha, Krile, T. Library semi-modern AU, G'raha is a librarian at the Great Gubal Library, Evi'a as an adventurer seeking to realign his life a little with a couple moons of study.

“I’m sorry, but perhaps could I help you?” a dulcet voice suggested softly, and Evi’a looked up from the arcane listing that was the Great Gubal Library database to see a red headed, viridian-eyed miqo’te, his bangs swept over the right side of his face in a manner that suggested a hidden injury or scar.

“Oh, uh, sure,” he said, awkwardly stepping aside to grant the redhead a space in front of the flickering screen, blinking as he realized the man barely cleared his shoulder. “I don’t want to trouble you though, I can probably figure it out with a little time.”

“That’s okay, it’s my job,” he answered with a faint smile, not quite looking at Evi’a as he placed his hand on the mouse. “What is it you’re looking for?” 

“...Just the section on Amdapor, preferably as it relates to white magic,” he replied, privately surprised to find someone so young working in such a stuffy, ill-favored looking place. Compared to the scholarly garb of the other librarians, he appeared aught more than a student out of place in his jeans and loose-fitted green sweater. 

“Ah, studying conjury?” he mused, already flying through menus. “Not a beginner, I take it, or you wouldn’t have been allowed in here.”

“No, but sometimes I feel I might as well be. Perhaps I could start with intermediate topics?” he asked with a sigh. The librarian smiled, narrowing down the titles as though he knew them by heart. 

“It’ll come to you in time, with dedication and practice. Are you an adventurer, by chance? Archer?”

“Ah, yes,” the Keeper answered, caught off guard. “How’d you know?”

“Educated guess. Your hands are…” He straightened suddenly, ears half pinned with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...I-I wasn’t thinking,” he stammered, cutting a quick glance to Evi’a and then away. 

“My hands are what?” he asked, genuinely curious. The librarian rubbed at one arm in what looked like a subconscious distraction, fidgeted on the spot. 

“You have callouses in the right places for it,” he said in a low voice, blushing so hard his freckles blended in. “Sorry! I wasn’t staring or anything of the sort, I just…” He stopped, closed his eyes and took a breath. “Anyway, I daresay you’ll find these titles most helpful,” he said in a far more businesslike tone, indicating the screen with a vague wave of his hand. 

“Thank you,” Evi’a answered, slightly bewildered at the exchange. “Have you studied conjury? It sounded like you have some knowledge on the subject,” he ventured, trying to move the conversation along so that it might not end in such an awkward note. There was a silence as the librarian—Seeker, he realized as he was afforded another brief look at the man’s upturned face—clearly pondered whether or not to answer.

“I’m a rudimentary white mage at best,” he finally said, then gave a short bow. “If you have any trouble finding what you need, any of the staff will be happy to assist you.” With that, he turned and ducked down a side aisle, leaving Evi’a to stand and wonder where he’d misstepped. 

  
  


In any case, the man’s advice was sound, and the titles he suggested were quite helpful. Evi’a found himself rather hoping that they’d run into one another again so that he could offer his thanks, but over the next week of his studies the chance never seemed to crop up. He saw the librarian every day, sometimes helping other patrons, but more often than not quietly engaged in his own solitary tasks--sometimes broken by surprisingly agile leaps up or down to the next level. He was never scolded by the other staff, but it did seem quite reckless and out of place for such an establishment, which piqued the Keeper’s curiosity even more. 

After several days of this, he couldn’t take it anymore, and thought to ask if there was a time that the Seeker had a break, that they might speak for a moment. And so he flagged down another member of staff, a rather formidable Viera woman with bright silver hair and stern blue eyes, to ask if she knew when would be a good time. 

“And what exactly is that you wish with him, pray tell?” she’d asked so severely that his ears pinned and he felt he’d best raise his hands in placation. 

“I just want to thank him for the advice he gave me earlier this week, perhaps ask a few questions about white magic,” he said quickly, squirming a bit as she stared him down. He raised his eyebrows in puzzlement when she broke out into a smile.

“Oh, is that all? Hmm. Well, I’m afraid I’m not of the habit of giving out other staff’s personal information, so I suppose you’ll have to track him down yourself,” she shrugged, with a smile so impish that he almost swore she  _ wanted _ him to go out of his way to talk to the man. He thanked her and hastily made his retreat, wondering what exactly that had been about. 

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to approach the redhead, for reasons that he couldn’t quite pin. Several times Evi’a thought he saw the Seeker looking his way in his peripheral vision, but when he turned to check properly the librarian was always otherwise engaged. He did have, Evi’a noticed, a peculiar way of not quite looking anyone in the eyes, and while he was warm and friendly with the guests he also kept conversations short, seemingly keen to go about his own business.

And so Evi’a left him be, focused his mind on the studies he was here for, to take the temporary refuge sought from his travels as he struggled to realign himself, to come to terms with his failures and make an attempt at some personal development. Even so he was not used to sitting still for such long stretches of time, and the place was deadly quiet. Sometimes he found himself staring off past the words, and when he looked up from his tomes to recenter his mind, he would be distracted by the dust motes dancing in what dim sunlight broke through the grime on the narrowed windows. 

Well, at least he was getting some relaxation in, even if his studies weren’t going quite as diligently or effectively as he’d hoped. 

And so he was quite surprised, a few days later, when a commotion of whispers broke his train of thought. When he looked up from his tomes, there was the librarian, half hiding behind a shelf, and a brown haired lalafellian woman tugging at his arm and...encouraging him? It was hard to tell, but that was the impression he got. He noticed with interest that the Seeker seemed to have no qualms about looking her in the eyes, and his initial alarm died down to relief that the man did have at least one friend about the place. He watched with an amused smile as the lala changed tactics and wheeled to stand behind him, set her shoulder to his arse, and bodily shoved him out of his hiding spot. He stumbled and turned to glare at her, but she only made shooing motions in his direction. Evi’a chuffed to himself as the scholar’s hands curled at his chest in a typical miqo’te gesture of trepidation--and then swallowed his laughter when that anxious gaze turned to rest on him.

Oh. Oh...wait. Was that what was going on here? Surely not. He noticed his heart was beating faster, and he wondered at himself, at the blush rising in his own cheeks as the librarian made his bashful approach. He didn’t know quite what was happening, but he was pretty sure what he was feeling wasn’t vicarious embarrassment. 

“Er, hello,” the shorter miqo’te said as he stopped next to Evi’a’s table, tail swishing madly. “You...how fare your studies?” he asked, then furtively looked back to where the lala was now hiding behind the shelves. Just through the cracks between the tomes, the Keeper watched her bury her face in her hands and shake her head in exasperation. 

Oh gods, this was what it looked like after all. He swallowed, attempted to still the unruly lashing of his own tail as he took in how that lovely red hair shone in a stray beam of sunlight.

“Pretty good, you?” he asked, then winced. “I’m sorry, I mean, I know you work here, but I thought maybe…” He sighed, realizing there was probably no covering that nervous gaffe. “The tomes you suggested were an excellent starting point, thank you for that. I’d thought to catch you to give you my thanks, but you seemed quite ensconced in your own tasks, and I didn’t want to bother you.” 

“Oh!” the librarian said, ears perking with surprise. “I didn’t realize you’d wanted to...sorry, I can be kind of obtuse about that sort of thing,” he finished with a murmur, fidgeting with his fingers for a moment before he realized he was doing it. He forced his arms to his sides, then looked up shyly in his first real attempt to meet Evi’a’s eyes. “Actually, I...I’d hoped to talk with you again. We don’t get many adventurers, but I didn’t want to bother you. It’s unprofessional to harangue one’s patrons, after all.” 

“You’re not haranguing me, I’d welcome the company. If you’re not too busy, that is,” he said warmly, heart lifting along with the man’s smile. “I’m Evi’a Llyrhai, it’s good to meet you.”

“Oh Azeyma, I never gave my name, did I? I’m G’raha Tia...i-it’s good to meet you too.” 

“Would you like to sit down?” he asked, gathering up his nerve to indicate the chair to his right. 

The Seeker blinked, ears twitching as he gave a nervous little puff of air. Sweet Menphina, he was so obvious, and it was so endearing.

“Ah, of course, if...if it’s okay.” Evi’a swallowed, surreptitiously rubbed his heated palms over his knees as G’raha moved to sit. How long had it been since he’d done this, actively flirted with another person? Come to think, how long since he’d even had the peace of mind to be interested in another? After leaving his tribe he’d been so tired and wary about relationships that he hadn’t bothered to try...and that had been quite a long time ago. He wasn’t sure himself quite what he was doing, but something about the Seeker’s genuine air put him at ease, as though perhaps making a go at this wouldn’t end in some pit fire of a disaster.

“So, how long have you been working here?” he asked, figuring the job was as safe a place to start as any. 

“About...twelve years, I suppose?” he mused, hands clasped in his lap as he eyed Evi’a’s tomes. 

“Wow, that long? I’d thought perhaps you were here for a summer job, or perhaps a sabbatical,” the Keeper exclaimed. “Er, no offense. You just...I just thought you seemed a bit close to my age, rather young to have already taken up work like this.” 

“...I’m afraid this is going to be a lifelong profession, for me,” G’raha said quietly, studying his hands. Evi’a winced...this was already not going as well as he might have hoped for. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...if you don’t want to talk about this, it’s okay.” 

“No no, it’s fine. I’d just...I can’t help but be a little jealous of you, being an adventurer and all. Despite what it might appear at first glance this  _ is  _ a very fascinating job, but as you may imagine it does not lend to adventuring, or getting out much at all, for that matter,” the Seeker said, looking about the cavernous building with bittersweet fondness. Evi’a’s tail thumped at the chair legs as he pondered what might be best to answer, but nothing particularly brilliant or forthcoming came to mind. Well, just have to wing it and hope for the best, then. 

“I’m getting the feeling you must have inherited your position, then?” he ventured, and the Seeker nodded. 

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. My tribe…” He trailed off, looked to Evi’a for a moment before glancing back down to his hands. “As it happens, stewardship of the Crystal Tower passes down through my tribe, and it seems to have fallen to me, this generation.”

“The Crystal Tower?” Evi’a exclaimed, then hunched in on himself at the volume of his voice, at the flattening of G’raha’s ears. “Sorry, sorry,” he amended quickly, then went on in a quieter voice. “You mean, the ones who keep the Tower unsealed so it can power all of Eorzea, that’s...that’s your family?” 

“Yes. Or me, in this case,” he answered tonelessly, and Evi’a stared, heart aching at the dull, distant expression in the one visible green eye. If it were anyone else, he’d have thought they were lying, but the Seeker was so genuine, and his empathetic echo revealed not a scrap of dishonesty. He’d heard of this, that the Tower only opened for members of a specific miqo’te tribe that bore Allag royal blood, but he’d always thought of it as something of an urban legend. And if there was a family like that, wouldn’t they be highly secretive, and also probably quite rich? Come to think... 

“Does your tribe own this library?” he asked, unable to help himself, and G’raha canted his head to the side a bit. 

“Of a sort. It was built by the Sharlayans, as I’m sure you know, many centuries prior...but with a great deal of funding from our tribe. With everything running on aetherial power now and libraries falling out of popularity, this one’s been left to molder...but there is important knowledge that’s been sealed away here for hundreds of years that exists nowhere else, and it would be a crime to let it go to waste. That’s...that’s why I’m here on special permission, gradually transcribing the most important among these tomes to the Tower databases, that they might become public knowledge. Mostly medical research for now, though I do hope to branch out someday, once that’s finished.” 

“...That’s incredible,” Evi’a breathed, because he didn’t know what else to say, and it was true. “So you don’t have to stay at the Tower to keep it unsealed?”

“I go back four times a year to see to it. I don’t like...I prefer not to stay there,” he murmured, then suddenly pushed himself up to stand. “I think...I think I’d best go, there’s some chores that need seeing to.” Evi’a stared in dismay, heart sinking as he wondered how he might salvage the situation, cursing himself for a fool that he made such a wreck of things within less than five minutes. 

“You...you don’t have to go,” he ventured. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have asked, I didn’t mean to pry.” He sat back a bit in his chair when G’raha turned to look at him briefly, the one bright viridian eye shining, his expression raw with sadness and frustration. 

“This isn’t...it’s me,” he murmured, looking away. “It’s perfectly valid to be curious, and I should have kept it to myself if I didn’t want to speak of it...but somehow, this is always what comes out first, and I...pray forgive me, another time perhaps,” he said, then turned and practically fled for the safety of the neighboring aisle, leaving the Keeper to ponder what he’d ruined. 

  
  


Whereas previously he’d seen the Seeker from time to time about the library doing his tasks, over the next few days Evi’a did not see a single red hair about the place, and he didn’t dare ask any of the staff to know what had become of him. If he’d thought it was difficult to go about his studies before, it was nearly impossible now, his heart heavy as he replayed over and over again the questions he’d asked, the way he’d persisted even though G’raha was clearly not keen on the topic. Gods, if he had it to do over again he’d have talked about his own adventures--that was clearly what the librarian had been hoping to hear about, and he’d completely botched it. 

On the third day since G’raha had fled his presence, Evi’a found himself listlessly wandering the aisle of Amdapor tomes, pulling one out to flip through it before half heartedly shoving it back into place when the words failed to captivate him. The library felt especially dark--when he’d left his inn that morning clouds had been brewing on the horizon, and the dimness did nothing for his gloomy mood. A part of him wondered if he shouldn’t just cut his losses and leave, maybe get some practice in and see what his studies thus far had taught him--what he  _ had _ gotten done wasn’t without merit, after all, and if him being here was going to upset G’raha, maybe best to just leave. 

He sighed and pulled out another tome, raising his eyebrows with mild interest as someone on the other side of the bookcase pulled out an adjacent tome at the same time--and his heart stopped when he found himself looking directly through at G’raha’s face as he tilted his head to peruse his selection.

His bangs swept to the side, just enough for Evi’a to see that his other eye was an aetherial crimson so bright and pure that it seemed to glow in the darkness. Sweet Menphina, it was the fabled mark of Allag...and the inadvertent breath the Keeper took upon seeing it had G’raha snapping his head up with a start, and then a stricken expression crumpled his face when he registered Evi’a there, what he had seen. 

“G’raha,” the Keeper breathed, holding up one hand in entreaty...but the book was unceremoniously shoved back into place, and then there came the pattering sound of rapidly retreating footsteps. Evi’a groaned, let his head fall against the bookcase. 

  
  


“I’m afraid we can’t revoke your permissions early,” the canary-coated lalafellian staff behind the counter informed him primly. “You’re scheduled to be here for the next moon, and we ask that our patrons stand by their reservations. There’s quite a wait list to get in here, you must realize.”

“Then take my money and let someone else in!” Evi’a beseeched with frustration, inwardly cursing this bureaucratic red tape. There was nothing to stop them doing just that, of course, but he had a reputation to protect--adventuring was his livelihood, and he’d made something of a name for himself slaying primals--he certainly didn’t need a blot on his record from the respected library saying he didn’t honor his promises. Doubly so when that library was probably tied to the Crystal Tower. 

“Why do you want to leave so badly?” the woman asked, and he frowned at the personal question, then squinted as he examined her more closely. 

“You’re G’raha’s friend,” he exclaimed, suddenly realizing--he’d only seen her from afar, and the coat made her look rather different. 

“That I am,” she said with an unreadable expression. “And what does it matter to you?” 

“I...er...you must realize then, I’m making him quite uncomfortable. I have the distinct feeling he’s avoiding me, and to be honest, it’s pretty awkward for me to know that I’ve misstepped so badly that I’ve made him feel this way. If he doesn’t want me here, then-”

“Oh, he wants you here, isn’t it obvious?” she cut him off, then rested her elbows on the counter with a sigh. “That boy does himself in, truly. He gets like this when he tells people about the Tower, pulled this rubbish on me too back when we were at Val together. And you saw his eye, so you’re getting the extra silent treatment.” She heaved another sigh, leaned down to rub at her temples for a moment before regarding him with a sharp expression. “So, you must like him at least a little? Friendship is fine too, but I saw the way you blushed like a fool when he came to talk to you, so I’m thinking, it could be more?” 

“Uh…” he said eloquently, hunching in on himself a bit under her shrewd gaze. “I...I would like to see him again, if...if he’s amenable, but I have the feeling I said the wrong things.”

“Well, you could certainly have been more sensitive, but he’s right, it’s natural to be curious. He’s just such a hopeless ball of anxiety when it comes to the Tower, figures once people know that’s all they’ll see. And this is just a friend’s speculation on my part, but I believe he was  _ really _ hoping you’d see more than that. Would have been better if he could have just kept his mouth shut for a bit and held a different conversation, but he always feels like he’s lying by omission if he doesn’t get it out there right away, bless his heart.” 

“So...if I stay, you think...you think he’ll come around?” he asked, feeling a fool. For all he’d barely spoken to the man, he desperately wanted to see him again, and not just because he felt bad about how things had gone. He couldn’t get the stricken look in G’raha’s expressive eyes out of his mind, the speculation about the history behind that pain. He wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted to soothe another person more in his entire life, wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted the gift of eye contact more from another. It was such a simple thing, but the thought of looking into the Seeker’s eyes for more than three seconds had his heart racing. 

She pursed her lips, rubbed her chin thoughtfully. 

“There’s an alcove on the third floor, with a sofa laid into the wall. You make sure you’re there tomorrow around three with a few tomes in hand. I’ll see to it that he gets there. After that, you’re on your own.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses XD This idea has kind of halfway batted around in the back of my head for a month or so as an alternative to a modern coffeeshop AU, but I never had any intention to really write it, considering everything else I have on my plate. I told myself I'd write for about 2 hours and this is what I ended up with, so here we go. Def wanted to do more than this, might do if any of the remaining prompts are fitting.
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	27. Irenic--(WoL/G'raha AU, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the Library AU. Krile has set up a meeting between Evi'a and G'raha to see if things can be made right, but how will it work out in the end?
> 
> irenic(adj)--tending to promote peace or reconciliation; peaceful or conciliatory.

Evi’a shifted into the sofa for what felt the hundredth time, eyes wandering to the tarnished gold-filigree clock at the end of the hallway. It was thirty minutes past the time G’raha’s friend had promised he’d be there, and the wait was torture...especially since he’d shown up half a bell early and spent at least a bell before that pacing the corridors trying to pass the time, and also got very little sleep the night previous. 

What if he didn’t show? What if the librarian’s friend couldn’t convince him after all, and he sat all day on the sofa like...like a stood up date? Not that he’d imagined this was a date, obviously, but seeing as how he had plenty of time to ponder on what he was feeling, it was in part certainly the dread of rejection. He wondered at himself, why he felt so strongly, especially considering that he’d only really spoken to G’raha twice and neither time had gone especially well. 

Thinking on it, with his tribe he’d been carefully raised not to think on relationships much, his duty being to sire kits. And he’d done just that, had eight beautiful daughters, but he never could quite banish the idea that there ought to be more for him, that he was worthy of more than just shallow affection for the rest of his life. And he’d tried with their mothers, each and every one, but they were also tribal women, and not particularly interested in dealing with men outside the four times a year they were allowed into the settlement to make more kits. 

He loved his daughters, but he couldn’t take that life any more. And yet, in some cruel twist of fate, once he made it to the outside world, he found himself afraid to try again, afraid to be relegated aside by partners outside a tribal setting, couldn’t imagine how much it would hurt to be thrown away by a lover who actually was looking at him for something more but found him wanting. 

In an odd way, G’raha’s trepidation about being cared about just for his connection to the Tower made him feel a profound kinship with the man. Obviously the circumstances were different, but there was enough that was similar for him to easily imagine how the Seeker must feel, only ever the means to an end. 

And, if he really had to admit it to himself, on a perhaps more shallow level, the librarian was also beautiful, the rich crimson of his hair shining in the sunlight, his eyes bright as jewels and expressive besides, and what the Keeper would not give to run his hands over those freckled cheeks. And then there was that the man was already a white mage, the way he gracefully leapt from level to level as a tribal hunter might have done among the trees. Certainly there was a great deal more to him than appeared, and that was with all the Tower business aside.

Evi’a swallowed, ran a hand through his hair. 

He absolutely, without question had a crush on this man he’d barely spoken to, and having never experienced the like, he had no idea what to do. Well, except sit on the sofa and wait, which wasn’t a great option, but better than nothing.

And so he waited, and waited, and waited some more, his attempts to appear busy with his studies growing more and more lackluster as time ground on. 

But finally, at four twenty three on the dot, there came the sound of hesitant footsteps, and Evi’a couldn’t help but sit up and perk his ears, all pretenses at research abandoned. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile as G’raha tentatively emerged from the aisle to his right, wearing his usual jeans and a long forest green shirt that had the air of possibly being pajamas. Suddenly Evi’a wondered how long he’d been there before he decided to approach. 

“Hello,” the Seeker said softly with a little wave, ears half drooped. He couldn’t help but be concerned at how wan the redhead looked, even in this dim light, freckles standing out starkly against pale skin. 

“Hi there,” he answered back with a wave of his own. “It’s...it’s good to see you again,” he added, before there could be any awkward silence. G’raha’s ears gave a weak flicker; he attempted a smile, but it was so miserable that Evi’a’s heart nearly broke then and there. 

“Krile said you’d be here...forgive me for being so late. I...I was ill,” he said softly, arms rigid at his sides. Ah, so Krile must be the friend. The Keeper had thought this was supposed to appear a coincidental meeting, but apparently that was not the case. Well, better he didn’t know, he’d have felt a lot worse while he was waiting. 

“It’s okay, I was reading,” he replied, wondering if G’raha knew it for the white lie it was. “Are you alright, do you want to sit down?” He tensed as the Seeker’s face clouded, followed by the briefest crumpling of his expression before he smoothed it over with obvious effort. 

“Sure, that would be nice,” he said mechanically, and perched himself on the edge of the sofa a respectable distance away. Evi’a tapped his fingers against the cushions, schooling his own ears to their natural position as he flailed internally for what to do. Was he upset with the fib? With having his condition pointed out? He took a calming breath. 

“Do you...would you like to talk?” he finally asked, because that seemed more logical than grasping at straws. The Seeker opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it and fell to silence, clasping his hands tightly in his lap. Just as he was thinking to offer to just sit for a while, G’raha spoke up, so faintly that it was difficult to hear, even in the quiet of the library.

“I’m sorry for running off. It’s a bad habit. I know it reflects poorly on myself and the establishment.” 

“That’s okay,” Evi’a said gently. “I wasn’t offended, just...I’ve been wondering if I hurt you somehow, and...I’ve felt pretty awful about it, honestly.”

“It’s not okay,” G’raha countered with a terse shake of his head, mouth set in a thin line. “I’m astute enough to realize how I must have made you feel, and also not blind to the fact that I’m hurting myself, shying away from every overture of friendship that comes my way. I want to do better, but it’s so terribly difficult.” Evi’a took a moment to think about his reply, touched by the startling introspective bluntness of the admission and knowing it bore consideration. 

“What would make you comfortable, in a friendship?” he asked at length, and the Seeker turned wide eyes toward him before looking away, fingertips kneading into his knees. 

“Why would you wish to be friends with me? What is it that you see?” the Seeker returned instead, fixing him with a deadly serious glance for the few seconds he could hold before looking away. 

“I like you,” Evi’a said easily, because it was true. “I...I have an empathetic echo, and I have a good feeling about you...like you’re kind, and genuine, and care for others even if you don’t always know how to show it. You seem like you have a lot of stories to tell, and ...I’d like to hear them, if you should care to share sometimes.” It was cheating perhaps to rely on his echo for his answers, but he didn’t want to be anything less than genuine himself. The Seeker fidgeted beside him, a touch of crimson rising into his pale cheeks. 

“The echo...so you really are quite the adventurer,” he murmured. “I must say, it gladdens my heart that your innate abilities paint such a positive picture...but I do feel compelled to warn you, the mark the Tower has placed on me has its...detriments, and then there are other issues as well,” he said, pressing a hand subconsciously to his chest. “I fear you may come to find me most trying.” 

“I won’t say I don’t care about the Tower business, because that’s your heritage, and obviously it has a profound impact on your life. But I believe there’s a whole lot more to you than just that connection...and I’d like to get to know you, if you’ll let me,” Evi’a said, doing his best to choose his words carefully. G’raha offered him a bittersweet smile before looking to his hands.

“Sometimes I wonder, which parts are me and which parts are the Tower, what I might have been without its interference. But, here I go again, being difficult, and that sort of speculation has never helped.” 

“It’s alright to feel what you feel, G’raha,” he answered, having reminded himself of the same any number of times. “Why are you really here? Why’d you choose this over a life of luxury at the Tower, or any of the other places you might have gone?” He winced internally, wondering if that was going too far, but in his heart it felt like the right question to ask. To his surprise, the Seeker turned to offer his first real smile, faint though it was. 

“Hope,” he answered, his voice clear and resolute. “I’m not content to rest on my laurels at the Tower, idling away my life in luxury by virtue of being the one born with the eye. There’s a whole beautiful world out there, and though I may never see it for myself, I want to know that I’ve done something with my means to make Eorzea and beyond a better place. As you may have guessed, I have my own shortcomings that keep me from getting out much, and to that end I’ve been something of a scholar since boyhood by default. When I learned of this library, of all the good that’s been sealed away here--especially in the field of medicine--it just felt like my calling.” he explained, and Evi’a’s heart gave a little flutter to hear him say to much at once, to know that he was so _good_ , to see his posture finally relax by a few degrees.

“It’s a very noble endeavor you’re pursuing,” he said quietly, and the Seeker gave a chuff.

“Lovely words, at least, but saying and doing are two very different things, I’m afraid. I’ve transcribed a mountain of information this past decade or so, but there is yet a good deal of bureaucracy it has to pass through in the outside world before it can be rightly put to use. Still, if my work has saved a single life, eased a single person’s pain, offered any suffering soul out there hope, I shall be content in knowing I’ve done a good service.”

“You mean, you don’t know if any of your work has made it into common use?” he asked with shock, and G’raha blushed further, a flustered smile brightening his face.

“..Some of it has,” he mumbled, clearly pleased with himself. “I can’t bear to search for the news myself, but Krile sends me the articles.” 

“That’s amazing, G’raha. I should be very interested to know what breakthroughs are direct results of your transcriptions,” he said warmly, and the Seeker winced.

“Oh Azeyma, ask Krile, she’ll tell you. I prefer not to go on about that sort of thing, it’s embarrassing. But...it does give me comfort to know that the effort was mine, at least, helps me hold on to hope for myself as well, on a number of levels. Which I suppose, if I’m quite candid, is why I’m sitting here with you right now.” Evi’a’s heart gave a dizzying little tumble in his chest, and he had to ask,

“What is it that you hope for here, then?” he asked, indicating the space between the two of them. The answer frightened him, but he had to know. His heart skipped a beat as G’raha actually _looked_ at him for a long moment, then around the library with a pensive smile. 

“There’s...there’s an archery course I’ve set up behind the library...if it doesn’t interfere with your studies overmuch, would you...do you think you might come practice with me tomorrow?” he asked instead, looking anywhere but at Evi’a. 

The Keeper stared at him, stunned. Was this a date? Was he being asked out on a date, and not the other way around? Given his role in the tribe, no one had ever…

He was brought out of his scrambled thoughts by an anxious glance cut his direction, the nervous curl of a red tail. 

“Yes!” he answered quickly, cheeks hot. “Yes, I’d be happy to. More than.” 

“Right!” the Seeker said, bounding to his feet so quickly Evi’a did a double take. “Well, that’s settled then, I’ll come...I’ll send Krile to fetch you tomorrow, perhaps at ten in the morning?” he asked, ears perked high and arms stiff at his sides even as his tail lashed behind him. 

“Yes, ten is fine,” he said faintly, barely registering his own response through the haze of his shock.

“Great! See you then,” G’raha responded hastily, and as was his habit, fled down a side aisle and disappeared into the labyrinth of his domain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm enjoying myself writing this, and since this prompt tied in neatly with where the plot is at the moment, I figured why not? :D Also happy that people are enjoying this extremely self-indulgent fluff. There will be more sooner or later, I'm not satisfied with leaving it here ;;
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	28. Paternal--(WoL/G'raha, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After what has felt a lifetime of waiting, Evi'a welcomes his oldest daughter home. G'raha offers his support and thinks on his own time as a parent, where he was and where he finds himself now. 

G’raha looked on with a pang of sympathy as his love stalked the end of the broken off wooden walkway just ahead of the Hermit’s Hovel, his eyes sharply trained on the valley below for any sign of his daughter’s arrival. In the three years since the Seeker had returned to the Source, Evi’a’s eldest daughter Serha had come of age, and as a woman of sixteen years was free to leave the tribe as she wished. Within a week of her name day she’d sent a letter indicating her intent to make the journey to meet her father, and now here they were.

“You don’t suppose they’ve denied her passage?” Evi’a muttered for the fourth time in a bell, and once more G’raha laid a calming hand on his love’s shoulder. 

“Come now, let’s try to be patient...it’s barely past noon,” he said gently. “There’s plenty of time yet for her to arrive on time.”

“I know,” the Keeper said, ears flicking with frustration, “but she’s killing me not letting us go down to meet her, she’s never made this trip before.” 

“From my understanding you traveled those paths alone when you were much younger than she. How about this? If the sun begins to set and she has yet to arrive we can go look for her, but until then, let’s try to let her achieve what she may on her own.” Evi’a glowered, and then just as suddenly his expression shifted and his eyes shone with tears. 

“Ah, you’re right...but I hate this, Raha,” he whispered, readily falling into the embrace when it was offered. 

“I know,” he replied softly, reaching up to stroke his love’s ears with one hand. He’d felt much the same when Lyna first joined the Guard in a skirmish with the eaters when she was fifteen. She’d been practicing for years by then, and as much as letting her go at such a tender age had terrified him, it was also the stark state of reality on the First—trainees younger than her were fighting, and he had no right to deny her. When she’d returned home that night, stormy-faced and giving her best to fight down tears in his presence, he’d known better than to go to her chambers and comfort her. It had been a terribly hollow feeling to have dinner sent to her door instead, but he’d realized that sometimes people needed the privacy to fight their own battles. And no doubt Evi’a knew exactly the same about his own daughter, but that didn’t make enduring the wait any easier...especially seeing as how the Keeper had already lost one of his children to the mountains at an early age.

They stood for a while like that, until Evi’a pulled away of a sudden, eyes scrunched in the way he had when something unexpected came to the attention of his echo. 

“Is she here?” he asked, both of them turning as one to peer into the forest below. Sure enough, a young miqo’te girl with bright red hair emerged from the trees, shading her eyes against the sun as she looked up to wave at them. Within a flash Evi’a was gone from his side, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen a man shimmy down a bolt ladder so quickly. G’raha watched Serha struggle for a moment with how to respond, and then they were both running to greet one another, and when they met Evi’a spun his daughter around like she was yet a little kit. The Seeker smiled, stepped back from the prominence to grant them their privacy. His heart twinged for a moment as he imagined how dearly he should love to see Lyna, but he was so full of joy for his mate that he couldn’t dwell on his own sadness for long. 

Presently they made their appearance back at the cliffside, red-eyed and smiling, Evi’a reaching a hand down to help his daughter up even if she strictly didn’t need it. 

“Raha, my daughter, Serha,” the Keeper said proudly as she came into view. “Serha, this is my mate, G’raha Tia.” For a moment he could only stare at the similarity between them. Though the grey of her skin was far more muted and her wavy red hair was cropped at the shoulders, they had the exact same eye shape and color, the same smattering of freckles, the same thick fur on their ears, the same crooked smile when they were nervous. It suddenly hit him in truth, looking upon her, how his love must have suffered for her absence, how much he suffered still to know that his other daughters might never make the same journey. That there was a life his mate had left behind, that he’d already left it even before they first met all those ages ago in Mor Dhona. 

He blinked back tears, joy mingled with grief, took a hesitant step forward, unsure how much she would welcome. 

“I’ve heard so much abou--” and the air was squeezed from his lungs as she bounded forward to pull him into a backbreaking hug. 

“Tis good to meet you, G’rrraha Tia!” she exclaimed in a rustic miqo’te accent, pulling back to regard him with a bright smile, her cheeks tearstained and dirty. “Fatherr has wrrritten everr so much about you, and yourr letterrrs werrre so frriendly as well...thank you forr looking afterr him!” 

“Ah, well,” he fumbled, flustered by her enthusiasm as much as her words. “To be fair, your father has looked after all of us very much. And it’s good to meet you too, Serha.” She grinned at him, and this time their hug was gentler and of greater depth, family meeting for the first time with like cause already comfortably in place. 

“You’rre wearring my pins,” she said softly as she pulled back, reaching out tentative fingers to tap them. “I’m glad they suited.”

“I’ve been honored to wear them...your gifts have meant the world to me,” he said warmly, and she gave an abashed chuff, cheeks coloring much as her father’s did. When he finally turned to look to his love, he found the Keeper looking back and forth between them both, tears shining in his eyes and a half stunned smile lifting his features. G’raha smiled, leaned over to bunt at him. Evi’a returned in kind with a chuff, then placed a hand on their shoulders. 

“Well,” he said tremulously, “shall we go home?”

It was late by the time they curled up in bed together, the trip home having taken quite some time even with the Falcon, and then with helping her get settled in. Serha had been mostly quiet for the duration of the journey, clever eyes taking in a world she’d never seen and processing what was surely an overwhelming experience. Aside from leaving home and meeting her father, she’d never laid eyes on technology such as an airship, and her simple leather garb was well out of place on the few stops they made. In short, she was very much out of her element, and so it was no small wonder that she collapsed into bed after a rudimentary wash and a few miq’abobs from the road. They both rather regretted that the only room they had to offer her at such short notice was Evi’a’s workshop, which they’d cleared of all his woodworking paraphernalia and outfitted with decent--albeit mismatched--furnishings as best they could. She didn’t seem to mind at all, even this makeshift setup more luxurious than anything she’d ever had in her life, but Evi’a was determined that she should have better in short order. 

“Gods, I hope she’s okay,” Evi’a murmured as he tucked his head up under G’raha’s chin, happy but also clearly exhausted from his own emotional trials. “I know what it was like for me when I left, and I had more of an idea of what I was facing than she did. I never expected she’d want to come here so soon.”

“She’s always said so in her letters,” G’raha said quietly, nuzzling at his love’s ears. 

“Yes, but there’s a great difference between bold thinking and actually taking that step. It shames me to admit that I didn’t know she had it in her...but she does, and I couldn’t be more proud,” he whispered, bunting up into the comfort of his mate’s touch. 

“She seems quite a stalwart soul indeed, much like her father. Hopefully between us we can ease her transition into her new life as an adventurer.”

“I hope so...Sweet Menphina, I can still scarce believe my little girl’s going to sign up with Mother Miounne. At least she’s willing to wait a few moons before that, else I’d be losing my mind more than I already am,” the Keeper said, then snuggled closer, wrapped an arm tight around his waist. “...Thank you Raha, for being here for both of us. I don’t know where I’d be right now without you.” 

“It’s my honor,” he breathed, still fairly dazed himself with the happy, sudden expansion of his family. 

“Are you alright?” came the muffled question against his chest, and G’raha frowned. 

“Better than, it does me wonders to see your joy. Why should I be unhappy? Oh,” he said as it suddenly dawned on him what the Keeper must mean. He sighed, rubbed his cheek against soft silver fur just as much for his own comfort as for his mate’s. 

“Of course I miss her, every day...but I know she’s well, and your aid in ferrying our correspondence journal back and forth across the rift has been immensely helpful,” he murmured. “Sometimes I think about...well, if I’m honest, even back then, I often wistfully imagined what it would have been like to raise her with you at my side.” He blinked back tears, smiled as Evi’a hugged him closer. “Having your daughter here reminds me of those days of lonely parenthood, but also...you’ve given me the chance to realize that dream, if not quite in the fashion I’d first imagined. Pray believe me when I say, my predominant emotions this evening are of grateful wonder and joy at being so welcomed into this precious aspect of your life.” 

When Evi’a scooted up to catch his lips in a sleepy, tender kiss, he gladly reciprocated, revitalized all over again in his renewed existence that somehow grew more beautiful by the day. The juxtaposition of what he had now against that century he’d spent in the Tower was so agonizingly bittersweet that tears did slip, but he swiped them away with a smile, tucked his love’s head back under his chin.

“Go to sleep,” he murmured, brushing a kiss over silver ears. “It’s been an exhausting day for everyone.”

“You’ll see her face again someday, Raha. Somehow, we’ll make it happen.”

“I know,” he said simply, closing his eyes as a warm calm blanketed his soul. He’d lived his entire life with hope held high and dear in his heart, and he wasn’t about to stop now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't finagle this one to match my Library AU, alas, but I am happy to write my boy finally welcoming one of his daughters--having them kept away from him has been a painful ordeal for most of his adult life. I like to think of him and Raha helping Serha adjust until she gains the confidence find her own way forward. And even then, that he can see her whenever they both have time would be so good for him ;;
> 
> As to the Library AU, I may continue it here, depending on the last prompt, but either way I'm going to pull it and make it its own fic, since I couldn't really finish what I wanted to write of it and one more prompt isn't going to cut it :D
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	29. Splinter--(WoL &  his daughter, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Evi'a's daughter struggles to adjust to her new life, they have a heart to heart on the trials that come along with splintering off from their mountain tribe.

“I...I think I’m done, for now,” Serha said, standing up from the table with a wobbling smile. “I’m going to go read in my room for a while.” Evi’a had just enough time to see her tears slip before she turned away, and within a few quick strides she disappeared into her makeshift space, closing the door quietly behind her. He half rose to follow, ears pricked with distress, then sat down heavily in his seat and buried his face in his hands.

“...I shouldn’t have bothered her about the soup, I can tell she’s not having the best of days,” he muttered between his fingers, ears sinking.

“I’m sure you know as much as I that this is not really about soup,” G’raha said gently, placing a warm hand on his knee. “Maybe give her some time and go speak to her?”

“Aye, I will. She’s trying so hard to bear up and act like none of this is affecting her...my memory might be a little rusty, but I remember how leaving made me feel.” He sat up with a sigh, looked to her door. “I think I’ll make her some tea from home, she might appreciate it right now.”

“I’d think so too...I’ve never had the strongest affection for my tribe either, but dried Ilsabardian bass always makes me feel better,” G’raha mused, pushing up from his chair. “Perhaps I’ll go into town for a while, do the shopping for dinner while I’m there.” 

“You don’t have to go,” he said, rising as well to give his shorter mate a hug. 

“It’s a beautiful day! It’ll be nice to have a little time to myself, and I think she also needs some time alone with you,” the Seeker answered, bunting up affectionately against his chin. “I’ll pick us up some chestnut tarts before they sell out.”

  
  


A third of a bell later found Evi’a diligently measuring out his tribe’s smoked tea leaves as the kettle boiled on the stove. He’d pondered a bit how to approach his daughter, what to say, but really all he could do was see if she wanted to talk or needed some company, and if not, to back out gracefully. Sometimes it was enough just to show support and be there...but he hoped she would speak to him. The last few weeks had been more of a whirlwind of acclimatization than he’d hoped for, but she wanted to see  _ everything _ . And so he took her all over Gridania, to every little nook and cranny sweet shop that he and G’raha had found, to breakfast at the Carline Canopy, to the airship lifts and to introduce her around the guilds. They went to the markets as well, but she’d been very quiet there as she looked at the goods, and when he asked if she’d like anything she declined. 

Thinking back on it now, however, there had been very little talk about  _ her _ . He’d spent a good deal of time answering a multitude of questions, explaining customs and manners and whatever else crossed her mind to ask. In the past few days, however, she’d gone quiet, wandering the garden or sitting outside to read, not particularly interested in going to town. When he asked she said she was tired, and that was understandable. Aside from the overwhelming amount of information she had to absorb and the stress of a new atmosphere, she was doggedly making the transition to being awake during the day instead of at night, which was rough going on any Keeper. 

She’d asked him to keep at her about her manners so she could practice, but apparently his gentle reminder to use a spoon for the soup had been the last straw. He’d thought nothing of it at the time, but remembered with a pang as he went about his preparations that a thin, salted potato soup was often the final part of the family meal, drunk together as the sun rose before bed. It had been so long that he’d honestly forgotten about it, and to be denied that simple loving comfort of home at the dinner table had been perhaps too much to bear. 

He shifted the tray onto one arm as he knocked at her door, tail flicking nervously for a moment at the thought that she might not answer. 

“Come in,”she said softly, and he let go a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 

“I brought you some tea,” he ventured as he pushed open the door to find her leaned against her headboard with a book. An upside down book, he noted with a twinge, and her cheeks were damp. At any rate she pushed the tome to the side and swung her legs over the side of the bed, reached out to take her cup when he offered her the tray. Belatedly he realized that it was obvious he wanted to join her, since his cup was there as well.

“Is it okay if I sit down?” he asked, and she nodded silently.

“I’m sorrry for leaving dinner early,” she said in a low voice as he sat, and he winced internally again at her obvious effort to control her accent. He could understand, he’d stamped his own out pretty viciously back in the day to avoid a certain image, but it still hurt. 

“That’s okay, I’m sorry I bothered you about the soup,” he answered, and she shook her head.

“I asked you to remind me, better to embarrass myself here than when we’re out,” she said, turning the cup in her hands. “This is our tea from home,” she added in a whisper...and whimpered as tears broke free. He couldn’t help how his tail fluffed with dismay, and hastily took her tea and set the tray aside before reaching out to tentatively wrap an arm around her shoulders, uncertain how welcome he would be. 

When she turned into the contact his heart ached with sadness and a bittersweet sort of honor that he was being allowed to offer comfort. He pulled her into an embrace, kissed the top of her head. 

“I’m sorry father, I...I don’t mean to be ungrrrateful, but I…” She shook her head against his shoulder, and he smoothed her ears down gently. 

“You’re not being ungrateful, little flame, it’s hard to leave. I wept a good deal myself when I left,” he murmured into her hair, tears springing to his eyes unbidden at his own use of the pet name, the first thing he’d thought of when he saw her bright shock of orange hair as a newborn babe. 

She sniffled, and they stayed like that for a while until she’d composed herself enough to feel comfortable sitting up. He wordlessly passed her his handkerchief, and she took it with a watery hum of thanks. 

“For all we wrote letterrs, you never spoke to me about when you left. We...we’ve never talked. News, yes, and hopes and morrre, but never of what went on when I was small. Many questions I’ve asked, but not on this, because I was afrrraid, but will you now speak to me?” she asked quietly, not looking at him. 

“I’ll answer any questions you have,” he said firmly, and she gave a weak smile, looked to her knees.

“What was it like, when you left? I...I know that you were sad about Rrrehvi.” 

“My dear one, I was  _ devastated _ about Rehvi, and on some level I am always going to feel the pain of that loss. I wanted to protect her, and I wasn’t allowed the right to try.” He looked to his hands where they rested in his lap, swallowed back the tears that always surfaced when he spoke of his second eldest daughter. Now was not the time to dwell on that, however, or he would be of no help at all to the daughter who yet lived and needed his comfort. “But as to what it was like...I had not a plan in the world, just to get out, and I wandered for a few weeks, with no aim and no idea where to go.” Her eyes widened as she looked to him.

“I’d always assumed you went to stay with Melorran,” she said with surprise, and he smiled at the mention of his surrogate father.

“No, he wasn’t well at that time, and I didn’t want to be a burden on him and his family. I did run into a friend though, by chance, and he taught me how to live outside the tribe. I was very lucky to have him,” he said, guiltily wondering when the last time was that he’d spoken to S’ahfha Tia. 

“You don’t have our accent anymore,” she pointed out, and he gave a pained nod. 

“I don’t...back then, I was angry with our tribe, about a great many things, and I wanted all traces that might show my origin gone. And...I was embarrassed, that people should know my background, that they might assume me to be simple and naive just for the way I spoke. I was so afraid of being taken for granted. I’m not proud of it, but that’s how I felt, at the time.” 

They sat side by side, staring at their hands, tails flicking in unison. 

“Everrrything is so different,” she said at length. “I had never thought to care about clothes so much, but the women about Grrridania are so fashionable in comparison...I stand out, and I like it not, but to wear such garrrb would be as foolish as gilding a novice’s bow at this point. I would like to wear them, would have liked to let you buy them for me, but I’d feel shamed, like an imposterr,” she murmured. “Everyone can tell I don’t belong here.” He took a moment to think on this, realized after some introspection that compared to Limsa or Ul’dah, Gridania was very insular, without near the foreign traffic of other cities. He’d had some time to get used to outside life in far more forgiving Limsa, but to jump into Gridania first thing where there was no one of like experience to be seen on the streets was quite daunting. There was, however, the steady coming and going of adventurers, and a healthy novice program run by Mother Miounne. 

“I’ll admit, Gridania is perhaps a hard place to feel like you fit in, but it will come in time. I can understand being uncomfortable in the everyday local garb, but what about perhaps some archery gear? The guild is based here, after all, and any number of novices come here to train.”

“I am not a novice,” she said crisply, and he smiled to see some of her fight returning. 

“No, but you are comfortable as an archer, are you not? And you will find yourself to have common cause with other archers--as it were you did quite well in the practices at the guild. It might be a good place to start.” She raised fingers to her lips pensively, and he was grateful that she was at least considering his advice. 

“I can’t say as I know how I’ll like it, but perrrhaps I wouldn’t feel such a fool in the garb of a trade at which I have some skill,” she finally said. 

“We can see to that tomorrow, if you like,” he answered, and gladly wrapped an arm around her shoulder when she leaned against him. 

“I’m glad you found your way out here, father. If you can do it, I can as well. Strange as I feel here, it...it wasn’t for me to sit in the mountains the rrest of my life and be content in my ignorrrance, knowing there’s a whole world out there.” He bunted at the top of her head, understanding that feeling very well. Still…

“Ï believe you can do it too...just, you don’t have to push yourself so hard. It will all come in time, and it’s not worth making yourself ill over. And also...I know the ways of our tribe leave a lot to be desired, believe me, but I hope you can also bear in your heart that there are good things about where we came from, bits worth remembering affectionately even if life was hard.”

“Like the soup before bed,” she whispered, and he nodded into her hair. 

“Yes, and the festival drums and dancing at Solstice, and the charcoal stars we drew on the cliff sides to honor Menphina at Equinox.”

“The carvings we gave at year’s end, the songs we sang when summer storrrrms rolled through the mountains,” she added. “The braids we wore to honor the coming of sprrring.”

“Yes, all of those things,” he agreed, and she gave a little chuff.

“...I never knew you missed anything about tribal life.”

“Of course I do. There will always be elements of that life that I long for...and at least for me, it’s important to remember that, when I find myself growing angry or bitter about how I was treated.”

“It wasn’t right,” she said, meeting his eyes with a serious expression. “You should have been allowed to see us, if you wanted. They’d no right to stop you.” There was a whole other conversation there, about traditions long entrenched and differing values, but now was not the time to have it. 

“Thank you,” he said instead, turning to reach for their cooled tea. “This is also something from our tribe that I’ve always been fond of...thank you, for always sending it to me, for thinking to bring some back with you.”

“Aye,” she said with a faint smile, this time bringing her cup to her lips. “It does smell like the best parrrts of home.” 

“We can drink the soup before bed like we used to, if you want,” he offered, heart full of wonder and love that after what felt a lifetime, he was finally able to sit side by side with his beloved eldest daughter and have an honest, open conversation. That she’d come all this way to see him, that she too had splintered off from the tribe on a journey to find herself. 

“...I’d like that,” she answered quietly, and leaned against his shoulder once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last prompt of the event, and that being so I wanted to take a little bit to dwell on my WoL's relationship with his daughter...his struggle with not being able to see his kids over the years is a major factor of his character, and I've not written too much about his past in my stories, so this seems a good place to do it. 
> 
> I will be posting two more prompts, the ones that I missed from being sick/sheer exhaustion, over the next few days <3
> 
> If you want you can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens!


	30. When Pigs Fly (G'raha & Krile, Library AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Library AU. G'raha has a serious struggle with his self worth once he realizes he's asked out a famous primal slayer, but luckily Krile is there to help him through.

“Oh Krile, what have I done?” he asked with dismay, burying his face in his hands as he dropped to sit heavily on his four-poster bed. 

“I daresay you’ve asked someone you like to spend some time with you,” his longtime friend said blandly from where she was piled up in his armchair, legs swinging over the side. 

“Not just someone, he’s a famous primal slayer! And there I was musing to him about whether or not he’s an adventurer, Azeyma help me,” he moaned through his fingers. 

“I can’t believe you of all people are sat here equating a man to the sum of his fame,” she said sharply, and he brought his hands down just enough to squint at her. 

“I’m not famous,” he countered sulkily, and she raised an arch eyebrow.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about G’raha Tia, don’t give me your shite. If you want better than that from him, you’re going to have to give him the same consideration.” 

“Yes, but it  _ is _ different,” he insisted, standing up to pace along the distinct worn path in his faded green carpet. “He’s like to have no shortage of admirers...a man like that, he’s got much better options than...than this,” he said, indicating the whole of himself. “I’m going to make a fool of myself, presuming I haven’t already. Gods, I wish I’d never thought to do a search on him, that’s dishonest anyway.” 

“I’d say it’s healthy to see what you’re getting into, although if you were going to do that the obvious time would have been before you asked him out on a date,” she answered, and he winced, ears flattened.

“It’s...it’s not a date! It’s just...we’re just going to spend some time together doing something we both enjoy, that’s all,” he said anxiously. True, he’d half thought it furtively in the back of his mind, but to hear her put it directly to words was more than he could bear, made him blush to realize his own hubris. 

“Raha, he likes you,” she said gently, finally shifting to sit properly. “You should’ve seen how dejected he looked when he thought he’d hurt you, how his ears perked when I said I’d arrange a meeting. Also, he sat over a bell on that sofa in the dullest part of the library waiting for you. You might have come out of hiding sooner.” 

He had the grace to fidget guiltily before replying. 

“I didn’t know what to say, and I looked such a fright...I needed some time,” he muttered, then sat down again on his bed. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he admitted in a small voice, staring distantly past where his hands were clasped in his lap. He didn’t have to look up to know that he was being carefully studied, and despite feeling guilty that he was taking up her time like this, it did lend a little warmth to his heart when she sat down next to him on the bed and pressed up against his side. 

“Raha, all relationships are scary, and they all start from that one little ember of mutual affection, which luckily the two of you seem to have. And yes, you’ve got problems, but frankly everyone has problems, myself included and him as well. What do you want to do with your life?” The tip of his tail tapped at the mattress uncomfortably at the sudden question.

“I...I want to make a difference in the world, I want my research to give people hope--”

“Yes, yes, you’re kind hearted to a fault, I know. I’m not talking about the world and other people, I’m talking about  _ you _ . What do you want to do? Do you want to live out your days in this library transcribing tomes?” she persisted. 

“Sometimes what I want doesn’t matter in the grand scheme, if I stand to do so much good for others.”

“Answer the damn question, Raha,” she said softly, giving him a gentle elbow in the side for emphasis. 

“I want...if I could justify it, if my condition were better, I should have liked to go on an adventure or two myself...but that’s not for me, and you know it,” he whispered, and swallowed when she reached out to squeeze his hand. 

“Come on, where’s that hope you have so much of for everyone else? Where’s the man who spent hours practicing archery in the evening after all his studies were done, the sentimental idiot who ran off and got a tattoo as soon as he was accepted into Val because he was so happy to belong somewhere? Don’t let the Tower take those dreams from you, don’t make me sit here and watch you do this to yourself.” 

His heart ached as he looked down into her shining eyes, and he bent to bunt at her forehead. 

“You are playing very dirty,” he muttered fondly, and she grinned through her tears.

“Is it working?” she asked, and he gave a grumble of a chuff. 

“Yes,” he admitted in a low voice, at least temporarily resigned to his fate. “I’ll do my best tomorrow, but honestly, pigs are like to fly before this works out.” 

“Porxies fly,” she said brightly, and he snorted. 

“I suppose…” he allowed, ears perking just a touch. 

“You deserve nice things, Raha,” she said quietly. “Come on, say it.” 

He blushed, ears pinning again with embarrassment as he looked to her expectant face, and mumbled under his breath. 

“I didn’t hear that.”

“I deserve nice things!” he declared with a huff, tail lashing behind him as his cheeks burned, and she gave an approving nod.

“See, that’s more like it,” she said with satisfaction, and he was surprised to find his lips pulling up into the beginnings of a smile, his heart just a touch lighter. 

“Thanks, Krile,” he managed, a little wave of calm washing over his soul as she leaned against him once more.

“Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My last bit for the Library AU here before I move it off to its own space. Poor G'raha, he is having a Struggle, but it's good he has a friend like Krile around to talk some sense into him. 
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


	31. Unexpected--(WoL/G'raha, E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of their foray into Dravania, G'raha finds himself dealing with an unexpected and not entirely unwelcome condition. A slightly different spin on heatfic. 

The day after G’raha Tia and his love returned from their escapades in Dravania, he found that he could not stop squirming around the oddest sensation, which at first was a bother because he was quite sore from his earlier...enthusiasm. He’d thought perhaps the discomfort was an unfortunate side effect of their failure to use lubrication, and their subsequent trials afterward, but as the pain went away, the twinges remained, like an itch in his belly that he didn’t know how or where to scratch. 

“Are you okay?” Evi’a’d asked him in concern this morning when he’d felt particularly clingy upon awakening. “You’re pretty warm.” 

“Oh, I’m fine. Truly!” he insisted upon seeing the skepticism writ on the Keeper’s face. “Just...just tired. I suppose I do feel a bit odd,” he amended, blinking his eyes against fatigue. This wasn’t the crushing drain of what he’d oft felt as the Exarch, or the stuporous weariness that had him in a daze for the first few weeks after he’d awakened on the Source. No, there was a sort of plush, heavy, snuggly feeling about this tiredness that made him just want to burrow happily in the sheets and doze for the day, preferably pressed as close as possible to Evi’a. He did not, however, give voice to his wishes, especially since they’d already spent a day laid up recovering from what he’d instigated back after they’d finished sparring with the dragons. 

Evi’a hummed, nuzzled at his ears, and he couldn’t help but chirr and bunt under his love’s chin, the sensation somehow more comforting than usual. 

“Well, if this keeps up, you might want to see a physician? You don’t have the crystal protecting you from sickness anymore, can’t be too careful.” 

He scowled, wiggled further into the sheets. “I’ll be perfectly fine with a bit more rest,” he insisted, not about to start a pattern of being harangued into visits to the pharmacist on the Source as well. 

But later in the dimmed light of the evening as they were toweling off after their bath, he had to admit to himself that perhaps he was not fine after all. The water was too hot for him to bear for long, and he was aware of every drop as they trailed down his skin, fancied he could feel every ridge and bump in the wooden floors against his soles. The soft warmth of the towel sang against him, made him arch into the touch as Evi’a helped to dry him off. When the Keeper got down to his tail, he very nearly lost his balance.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were angling for a tumble, but you’re not even roused,” Evi’a said, sounding as though he weren’t sure whether to be amused or concerned. G’raha blinked back the haze, made a little noise of loss as the towel was taken away. 

Sweet Azemya, he wanted to be  _ touched _ . He wanted to lie down and let Evi’a run his hands all over him, to rejoice in the sheer physical palette of his heightened sensations, whatever the reason for them might be. Despite all they’d done so far, however, he still wasn’t particularly adept at asking for what he wanted, so he settled for tugging at his love’s hand, gently pushing away the proffered pajamas.

“I want to go to bed,” he murmured, and the Keeper frowned. “I’m not sure...I mean, if you’re not well--”

“I told you, I’m fine! I want...I want to be...just, come lie down with me,” he fumbled, ears canted back and cheeks burning hot. Evi’a looked uncertain, but allowed himself to be pulled toward their bed. Once there he flopped down onto the welcoming slight firmness of their mattress, shifted against the sweet coolness of the sheets with relish, reveled in how their scents mingled here after sleeping together for moons. Finally, he gave an immensely satisfying stretch, then hooked his arms above his head and onto his pillow, making sure he was fully on display for his love. 

“Touch me,” he said, and he’d meant it to be a question, but it came out closer to a command. For a fraught moment he thought Evi’a was going to balk, but after a long moment of consideration the Keeper joined him in bed, carefully straddled his thighs, his dark skin flushed in the dimness of the room as he leaned over to nuzzle at the Seeker’s ears.

“I’m not entirely sure what’s gotten into you, but gods, fetching as you are…” He bit off a growl. “I’ll touch you, but I’m going to stop if I...If I feel like something is wrong.” G’raha hummed his assent--sounded fair enough, and anyway, it meant he was going to get what he wanted. Already he appreciated the firm, warm weight of his love against his thighs very much. 

When strong hands finally reached up and trailed a heated, sure path down his underarms to his chest, he closed his eyes and happily rumbled a purr of encouragement, tried to arch even more just in case he hadn’t gotten his message across. The Keeper gave a chuff above him, and then began his work in earnest. 

G’raha couldn’t help his sighs of contentment, the steady hum of his purr as those strong archer’s hands swept over his body, the catch of familiar callouses against his skin heightening the sensation as the bard ran confident hands down his sides, massaged at the inside of his thighs, brushed fingers against the backs of his knees and then soothed down the sensitivity with the flat of his palms, worked thumbs in circles at the arches of his feet. And then, the whole process was repeated in reverse until the Keeper was straddling his thighs once more, leaning over to nuzzle at his temples. 

“You doing okay?” Evi’a murmured, and he gave a hum in response, too warm and happy and near to melting to grant a proper response. “Other side?” he asked, and G’raha rolled over by way of answer. “You can go to sleep if you want,” the Keeper murmured, and he smiled, hugged the pillow close under his chin. What a waste that would be, to fall asleep when he could enjoy the wonder of this beautiful, beloved miqo’te’s hands all over him.

He did find his eyelids fluttering against sleep a few times over the next quarter bell as his love steadily worked him into a melted heap of contentment. After floating in blissful sensation for a while, he was pleasantly grounded when Evi’a leaned forward to press against his back. 

“You’re still awake,” the Keeper said affectionately, nuzzling at his cheek. “I thought sure you’d be lost to dreams by now.” 

“Hmm, I was,” he murmured, offering a joyful little bunt in return before letting his head drop back to the pillow, enjoying the comforting weight of his love against him...and delighting that the Keeper was half hard from the attention he’d given. G’raha was sure they could both go to sleep just fine as they were now, but it  _ did _ seem a waste. He wasn’t particularly roused per se, but at the moment, everything felt good. He was far too lazed and content to do the work himself, but if the Keeper wanted, he was welcome. 

“Care to do something about this?” he asked, pressing his arse upward with a sleepy grin. Evi’a’s breath hitched, and then he gave a soft chuff.

“I’ll be fine, you should get some rest,” he whispered, resting his weight more fully and nuzzling once more at soft red ears. 

G’raha made a sound of disappointment even as he delighted in the increased closeness, found himself wishing for more. 

“But I want you,” he said petulantly, because he did, in all meanings of the words. “Just...just simple and slow and comfortable, and then we can go to bed.” Possibly he would have shied from saying this under usual circumstances, but he was so warm and full of the sheer physical sense of home and belonging that he didn’t have the wherewithal to be embarrassed. 

“Well, since you twist my arm so,” Evi’a laughed, and he gave a puff of laughter in return, shifted against the sudden loss of warmth as his love leaned over to fetch the phial of lubricant from their bedside drawer. “Let’s use this this time, shall we?” the Keeper grinned, shaking the bottle at him, and G’raha chuffed, summoning the energy to pull his legs beneath him for the better angle it offered. 

“I added some to my traveling bag, we won’t be without again,” he promised, and the Keeper laughed.

“Ever planning ahead.” He gave a pleased little squirm as a finger rubbed at his entrance, nerves alight in a way he hadn’t quite been expecting. “Everything okay?” Evi’a asked, pressing and circling  _ very  _ thoroughly, and G’raha rubbed his forehead against the pillow, breath suddenly shallow. 

“Will you _ please _ get on with that?” he groused, and the velvety nature of his love’s answering chuckle made him shudder. He took a shaky breath as that finger began to sink in and-

“Mm!” he cried with surprise as the Keeper’s touch against that perfect spot made him jolt, as a sweet, burning pleasure the likes of which he’d never felt before flooded him. He gasped, buried his face in the pillow with a whimper, tail curling behind him.  _ That’s it _ , he thought to himself foggily, trembling with the sudden onslaught of sensation. 

“Raha?” Evi’a asked uncertainly, and it took him a moment to be able to form words. 

“Can you...can you move a little?” he asked breathlessly, curiosity warring with unforeseen, overwhelming lust. When the Keeper complied, tentatively alternating between gentle brushes and firm strokes, he made a high pitched noise in the back of his throat, kneaded hard into the sheets. Sweet Azeyma, it was as though he were but moments away from finishing, hung on that precipice as he never had been before, and he didn’t know what to make of it but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. He gave a growl of frustration as the Keeper stopped, came back to himself a little with a soothing hand pressed against his lower back. 

“It’s...It’s this, what I...w-what I’ve needed the past...ah! When we were in Dravania...it w-was...more, but this…” He rubbed his face against the pillow again, Evi’a pressed against him just so and yet unmoving, it was driving him mad, but if he didn’t explain…

“Oooh,” the Keeper said with realization, and G’raha sobbed as the Keeper began to massage with more concentrated fervor. “When I lived with my tribe, sometimes it happened that...” Evi’a trailed off at a moan of exasperation, and the Seeker could almost feel him grinning. “Well, we can, uh...talk about that later,” he amended, and G’raha mewled as his mate took mercy on him and added a second finger, pitched forward and bit at his own thumb with a muffled cry as the Keeper began to strike at him. 

“That good?” Evi’a asked from behind him, tone a mix of inquisitive amusement and smug. 

“Mn...gods! Yes, yes, obviously!” he panted, his world attempting to narrow to that hot, needy demand within--but he remained almost painfully conscious of the light brush of his hair against his cheeks as he moved, the creases in the sheets against his arms and legs, the cool air of the room over his back. Clearly, this alone was not going to be enough. 

“Please!” he gasped, and groaned with the immediate addition of a third finger.

“Easy, I’ll see to you, just a moment,” Evi’a murmured above him, voice strained. Ah good, his mate was feeling the vicarious effects, so hopefully he would  _ get on with it _ . This part of their preparation was always somewhat uncomfortable for the lack of precision, but after their foray in the mountains he had just enough sense left to his lust-addled mind to remember why it was necessary.

When the Keeper withdrew he moaned at the loss--and with anticipation. From a practical standpoint he probably could have done with a little more stretching, but he didn’t think he could take the wait any longer. He had to remind himself to breathe as his love got into position behind him, and then the head of that heated length was pressed up against his entrance...where it stayed. He gave a mew of desperation as Evi’a leaned over to nuzzle at his ears, gasped as he was circled enticingly. 

“You have no idea how much I love you,” the Keeper purred, and then finally, finally pushed in, agonizingly slow. A stuttering moan escaped G’raha’s lips as that length came to rest heated and heavy just where he needed it, an inadvertent shudder running down his back to the tip of his tail. There was a new element here that his fogged mind could not process, something that hungered for the closeness and belonging realized by allowing his beloved to lead. As eager as he was for his mate to move, as pitched as his pleasure had gone, his body was still helplessly languid as he appreciated every tiny shift in sensation. 

“Slowly…” he breathed, not quite sure what he was hearing himself say when his body was begging for completion. The Keeper nodded against his neck, the heat of that storm dark skin welcome against his back. “Oh...oh oh oh…” he moaned in a low voice, fingertips digging into the sheets as his mate began to move, slow and attentive, just as he’d asked. It burned, it was exquisite, every firm press a reminder that he was loved, that he had a place, that he was safe and valued and taken and free. 

And so he moaned and sang and squirmed, unable to contain his enthusiasm as his love did everything he liked and his tempestuous body magnified the tangled notes of his pleasure to symphonic heights of beauty. He kept thinking every stroke would be the one to push him over, but it never was, and within short order all he could do was lie there and  _ feel _ .

“Raha, I…” Evi’a gasped at length, and G’raha made a helpless noise in the back of his throat as he was taken into a slick hand, hips jolting as he was stroked with knowing expertise, one thumb brushing at his tip with every pass. He’d legitimately forgotten about this, everything else was so good, and now this.... He mouthed at the pillow, ears flat and trembling, arching as much as his languid body would allow. Now, now, surely now…

Above him the Keeper shuddered, and he gasped as heat flooded him and for the first time he felt every drop, as the hand working him lost the rhythm and slowed. 

“Gods, Raha!” Evi’a panted above him. “I’m sorry, the sounds you were making, and what my echo was picking up, I couldn’t...” He pressed back to bunt his forgiveness at the Keeper’s chin as his mate collapsed atop him, their bodies sticky with a sheen of sweat, Evi’a’s heart rabbiting against his back. “I’ve heard tell of this, but...Sweet Menphina. How are you doing?” 

“Mrmrmmph,” he groaned into his pillow, profoundly aware of his love’s spent member yet twitching within him, the trailing leak of spill between them. “I’m hot, love you too, want you close,” he breathed, feeling he’d best clarify, “ An’m not done, s’mehow.” 

“Yeah, let’s see what we can do about that,” Evi’a whispered reassuringly against his ear as he pulled out, G’raha’s eyelids fluttering at the loss. “Come on, turn over,” he encouraged, gently guiding the Seeker’s knees out from under him and helping him onto his side. He sighed in relief as he flopped over onto his back, the easier position and the Keeper’s confidence both immensely comforting. 

“Wha’ is this?” he murmured, giving a hum of appreciation as Evi’a massaged the tired muscles at his hips. 

“Primal miqo’te leftovers, probably from what we did out in the wilds of Dravania. You’re, ah, recognizing me as your mate. It’s...it’s how we used to bond, a long time ago.” 

He raised his eyebrows, trying to blink back the daze enough to engage in what promised to be a very interesting conversation...but he just couldn’t manage, especially not with those teeth trailing a line down his stomach. 

“Would you like me on top, or something else?” the Keeper asked, once he’d halted his path and pressed a kiss to the heated skin of his mate’s freckled stomach. 

“Mm, if you do that you can’t reach...I want…” he faltered, praying Evi’a wasn’t going to make him explain this right now. 

“I thought so, just wanted you to know that the offer was on the table. Always is,” the Keeper smiled. He blinked back sudden tears, heart aching with love as he caught his mate’s silvered ears in his hands, stroked thumbs over thick, silky fur. How good he was, always reminding G’raha that they were equals, that he wanted to give as much as he received. He sighed as Evi’a purred and canted his head into the touch, then bent to nuzzle at his length.

“Is it okay if I go faster this time? That might help,” his mate ventured, and he gave a lazy wave of permission, happily aware of the warmth of the Keeper’s palm where it rested at his hip. He pressed his head back against the pillow, curled gentle hands into his mate’s hair as two fingers delved into him once more, as he was swallowed down without hesitation. Perhaps the reprieve had done him well, perhaps there was something subconsciously more intimate about being seen to like this, but within moments his body was singing a note so high his voice could not match it, and he opened his mouth on a soundless cry as he finally took that one step further and found himself at his peak, the journey there just every bit as wonderful and precious as the vista his rapturous body painted before him. 

He hummed, purred, and chuffed as Evi’a cleaned him, by turns with a warm cloth and the sweet, light burr of his tongue. When at last he could take no more of those soft laps at his entrance, he tugged his love up for a kiss, purred once more at the comfortable rightness of his taste on those lips. G’raha couldn’t help but lick at him for good measure, delighted with the depths of happiness in the Keeper’s eyes as their tails twined together and the taller miqo’te rested his weight atop him. 

“I should think I already knew you were my mate before this, but I shan’t complain if my body wants to underline the fact,” the Seeker said with a sleepy smile, anchored by his love’s warmth and the adoration in those navy eyes. “I’m going to ask you a question in the near future, so consider this fair warning.” The Keeper’s eyes widened, and then he gave a chuff, pressed a chaste, reverent kiss against G’raha’s lips. 

“Not if I ask you a question first,” he countered, brushing stray locks of hair away from G’raha’s face in a way that always made the Seeker’s heart flutter. Whatever clever comment he might have made faded into the kisses that followed. “You know,” Evi’a whispered, once he’d come up for a little air, “without fail the other mate follows, so you have that to look forward to, I suppose.” G’raha’s heart leapt, and he nuzzled at the blush on those dark cheeks. 

“I will, with all my heart.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Closing out this event on porn, because it's the weekend and I can XD 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading, and for all of your support over the event--I really appreciate it! Here's hoping I have the spoons to do it again next year. 
> 
> You can hmu on twitter @syrcusgardens if you like!


End file.
